
Class. 
Book. 



POETICAL WORKS 



OLIYER GOLDSMITH. 



ILLUSTRATED ENGLISH CLASSICS. 

Profusely embellished by Eminent Artists. 



PREPARING FOE PUBLICATION, 

THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD, 
COWPER'S POETICAL WORKS, 
GRAY'S POETICAL WORKS, 
THOMSON'S SEASONS, 

And other Popular Works. 

In square foolscap 8ro. volumes, cloth, price 25. 6d. ; morocco gilt, 55. j 
or bound in the best style by Hay clay, 105. Gd. 



t J *J& 




^mm 






'Sweet Aubctrn." 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OLIYEE GOLDSMITH 



satti) Efjirtp Illustrations by 

John Absolon 

Birket Poster, James Godwin, 

and Harrison Weir. 




LONDON 

CUNDALL & ADDEY, 21, OLD BOND STREET. 

1851. 






THOMPSON AND DAVIDSON, 

PRINTERS : 

GREAT ST. HELENS, LONDON. 



HSU 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 
memoir .......... ix 

THE TRAVELLER ; OR, A FROSPECT OF SOCIETY . . . . 1 

THE DESERTED VILLAGE . . . . . . ,27 

THE HAUNCH OF VENISON . ' . . . . . . 54 

RETALIATION . . . . . . ... 60 

FOSTCRIPT ........ 68 

THE HERMIT. . . . . . . . . .70 

THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION . . . . . . 79 

THE LOGICIANS REFUTED . . . . . * -85 

SONNET . . . . . . . - - 87 

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG MAN STRUCK BLIND BY LIGHTNING . . 88 

A NEW SIMILE . . . . . . . . . 89 

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG . . . - .92 

THE CLOWN'S REPLY . . . . . . . 94 

STANZAS . . . . . . . . . it). 

DESCRIPTION OF AN AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER . . . .95 

SONG . . . . . . . . . . 96 

EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON . . . . . . ib« 

STANZAS ON THE TAKING OF QUEBEC . . . . . 97 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 



AN ELEGY ON THE GLOKY OF HEB SEX, MBS. MABY BLAIZE . . 98 

EPITAPH ON DB. PABNELL . . . . . . . 99 

A PBOLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY THE POET LABEBIUS . .100 

PBOLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE : A TBAGEDY . . . . . . 101 

EPILOGUE SPOKEN BY MB. LEE LEWIS . . . . .104 

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF "THE SISTEBS" . . . 105 

EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MBS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY . . .107 

AN EPILOGUE, INTENDED FOB MBS. BULKLEY . . . . .112 

EPILOGUE TO THE COMEDY OF "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER" . .114 

LINES ATTRIBUTED TO DB. GOLDSMITH . . . . .115 

ON SEETNG MBS. * * PEBFOBM IN THE CHABACTEB OF * * * * . .116 

TO G. C. AND B. L. . . . . • • . . it). 

ON THE DEATH OF THE BIGHT HON. * * * . . . . .117 

AN EPIGBAM . . . . . . . . 118 

THE CAPTIVITY. AN OBATOBIO . , . . . .119 




MEMOIR 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



The father of Oliver Goldsmith was Curate of Pallas, or Pallasmore, 
County Longford, Ireland, where Oliver was born, November 10, 
1728. At the age of six he was placed with the schoolmaster of 
Sissoy, in Westmeath, a good natured man, with literary tastes of a 
fanciful and legendary description. These had their effect on young 
Goldsmith, who soon began to scribble verses, some of which were 
thought so well of, that he was soon declared to be the genius of the 
family ; steps were immediately taken for his better education, and 
the project which had been formed of bringing him up to trade 
was abandoned. Another circumstance told greatly in his favour. 
A severe attack of small-pox had left his face so much disfigured, 
that on some occasion it provoked a joke from one of his juvenile 



X MEMOIR OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

acquaintance, whereupon Oliver made so lively a repartee as was 
thought astonishing evidence of power, and his friends agreed, in 
conjunction with his father, to supply the money for his college 
career, but the latter being unable to comply with his promise, 
Oliver was obliged to enter Trinity as a Sizar, that is, one who was 
taught and boarded gratuitously, and whose only expense was for 
lodging, in consideration of which he had to perform various menial 
offices, irksome to the feelings of gentlemen. These degrading 
obligations are now abolished. 

Oliver's college career was by no means a pleasant one. His 
father died, and his friends relaxed in their assistance, with the ex- 
ception of his uncle, the Rev. Thomas Contarine, on whose generosity 
he was now entirely dependent. His tutor, Wilder, was a harsh 
man, and on the occasion of a convivial party at Goldsmith's rooms 
he was so enraged, that he rushed into the midst of the company 
and brutally assaulted the unlucky poet, who, considering the dis- 
grace as irreparable, left the university, and wandered about for four 
or five days, when he met with his brother, who persuaded him to 
return, and effected a reconciliation with Wilder. Oliver resumed 
his studies, but gained few honours, and finally quitted college in 
February, 1749, having taken his degree of Bachelor of Arts. 

He had now no hope but in the favour of his uncle, Contarine, 
who received him willingly, and prevailed on him to study for the 
church. He did so, and in due time presented himself for ordination 
to the Bishop of Elfin, who rejected him, as most people thought on 
account of his former irregularities at college, but more probably 
because the poet appeared in a costume more resembling in brilliancy 
the scarlet livery of a footman than the respectable black of a 
clergyman. This caused his friends to think badly of him, and he 
got little from them but advice. His uncle, however, supplied him 
with £50, and it was decided that Oliver should study the law, but 
unfortunately he met with an old friend in Dublin, and the money 
was squandered in dissipation or lost at play. 



MEMOIR OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. XI 

Oliver next turned Ms attention to medicine, and his family sup- 
porting him, he went to Edinburgh, where immediately occurred 
a ludicrous instance of his forgetfulness. He hired a room, deposited 
his trunks, &c, went out for a walk, and when at a late hour he 
thought of returning home, he found that he had neglected to 
ascertain either the name or address of his landlady. Fortunately 
he met the porter whom he had employed in the morning, and was 
soon freed from his dilemma. He remained two winters at Edin- 
burgh, and then drew on his uncle Contarine for funds to enable 
him to travel for the purpose of finishing his medical studies. After 
various adventures (including imprisonment on suspicion of being 
in the French service) he arrived at Leyden, where he studied one 
year, and then set out on foot for Paris, and in fine, travelled so 
through the greater part of France and Italy. His mode of life was 
doubtless that depicted in the " philosophic vagabond," in the Vicar 
of Wakefield. He reached Dover in 1756, penniless. His uncle 
could no more assist him, for he was dead. The stage seemed the 
only resource open to him, and he turned strolling player. For an 
amusing account of this portion of his career, the reader is referred 
to the best life of Goldsmith — his works. 

After some time thus spent he came to London, and supported 
himself as usher in a school, and afterwards as physician to the 
poor; and at length we find his talents asserting themselves in the 
humble capacity of corrector of the press to Richardson, the novelist 
and bookseller ! The proprietor of the Monthly Revievj next engaged 
him, and he took up his abode with " illiterate Griffiths," as his 
friends very naturally loved to call Trim, but finding neither the 
society nor the work pleasant, and the remuneration by no means 
compensating for the tedium, he relinquished the engagement after 
about five months. 

His old friend Dr, Milner, master of the school where he had 
been usher, now managed to have him appointed physician to one 
of the Coromandel factories, a poor post of only £100 a year, but 



Xll MEMOIR OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

with great advantages in the shape of additional practice. In order 
to defray the necessary expenses of equipment, he wrote the In- 
quiry into the Present State of Polite Learning in Europe, and 
published it by subscription. For once the funds were applied to 
their proper purpose, which was no sooner done, than, for some 
reason never explained, the appointment was set aside, at some 
considerable loss to Goldsmith and disgust to his friends. 

His next engagement was on the Literary Magazine, and other 
periodicals, including his own publication The Bee, and the world- 
famous Chinese letters, the Citizen of the World. These enabled 
him to quit the melancholy Green Arbour Court where he had been 
living, and take more commodious rooms in Wine Office Court. 
Shortly afterwards he removed to Garden Court, Temple. 

Although not properly appreciated by the public, it is evident 
that Goldsmith was more thought of by literary men. He had now 
gained the friendship of Dr. Johnson and Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
and the toleration, possibly envy, of Boswell. The Literary Club, 
established about this time, made him acquainted with Bennet 
Langton, Topham Beauclerc, and Edmund Burke, with whom he 
had been at college. The rest of the members thought and knew 
but little about him until the appearance of his beautiful poem 
The Traveller, in 1764. This entirely altered the opinion of him, 
and when shortly afterwards the Vicar of Wakefield was produced 
(it having been sold to a bookseller two years before, to relieve 
the author's distress) the previous state of things was quite changed, 
and Goldsmith's genius was acknowledged by all the club, with the 
exception of Boswell, who never admitted the presence of any lumi- 
nary but Johnson. This favourable impression was not removed by 
the doubtful success of his comedy of The Good Natured Man 
which was performed at Covent Garden in 1768. Although it had no 
great run he managed to clear about £500 by it, which enabled him 
to move to Brick Court, No. 2, where, in most luxurious apartments, 
he entertained constant parties of friends, to the great annoyance of 
Blackstone, who was diligently preparing his Commentaries in the 



MEMOIR OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. X1U 

rooms beneath. These dissipations were expensive, and the success 
of his History of Rome soon afterwards was of great importance. 

All this time, however, he was not idle. He was slowly pro- 
ceeding with his History of the Earth and Animated Nature, and in 
May, 1770, The Deserted Village appeared. Five editions were 
exhausted in three months, and with the proceeds of them he 
started for Paris, in company with a delightful party of friends, the 
Hornecks, to one of whom he had been long attached, though 
unavowedly. On his return he published biographies of Bolingbroke 
and Parnell, and an abridgement of the Roman history. 

The History of England next appeared, and though decidedly 
successful, occasioned a great deal of discussion and ill will. 
Goldsmith, however, in a letter to Bennet Langton, apologising 
for not visiting him, owing to press of business, declared that his 
aim was "to make up a book of a decent size, that, as 'Squire 
Richard says, * would do no harm to nobody." 

Press of business did not prevent him from paying a visit to the 
country house of Mr. Bunbury, who had married the sister of his 
favourite Miss Horneck, " the Jessamy Bride," as he used to call 
her. She was there too, which perhaps accounts for this singular 
pliability of circumstances. We have amusing accounts from 
various members of the family, of Goldsmith romping with the 
children, and of the good-nature with which he bore the coarse 
practical jokes of impertinent people who did not understand his 
fine nature. 

Goldsmith's position was now well established, but his natural 
inactivity and love of pleasure prevented him from ever being free 
of his literary engagements. He had received a large sum of money 
for the Natural History, and but little of it was written. To escape 
from the dissipations of town, he took lodgings near Edgeware; 
Boswell visited him there, and found the walls covered with pencil 
descriptions of animals. Washington Irving gives the following 
records preserved of him. 



XIV MEMOIR OP OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

" Sometimes lie strolled about the fields, or was to be seen 
loitering, and reading, and musing under the hedges. He was 
subject to fits of wakefulness, and read much in bed; if not disposed 
to read, he still kept the candle burning ; if he wished to extinguish 
it, he flung his slipper at it, which would be found in the morning 
near the overturned candlestick, and daubed with grease. He was 
noted here, as everywhere else, for his charitable feelings. Xo 
beggar applied to him in vain, and he evinced on all occasions, 
great commiseration for the poor." * * * "He would sing Irish 
songs, and the Scotch ballad of Johnny Armstrong. He took the 
lead in the children's sports of blind man's buff, hunt the slipper, 
&c, or in their games at cards, and was the most noisy of the 
party; affecting to cheat, and to be excessively eager to win; while 
with children of smaller size, he would turn the hind part of his wig 
before, and play all kinds of tricks to amuse them." * * * "I 
little thought," says Miss Hawkins, " what I should have to boast, 
when Goldsmith taught me to play Jack and Jill, by two bits of 
paper on his fingers." 

But all his time was not occupied in these childish amusements. 
Indeed, so closely did he attend to his work, that confinement 
brought on a severe illness when he returned to town in the sum- 
mer of 1772, and beset with anxieties and annoyances, he plunged 
into dissipations which only served to increase them, and to fix in 
his undermined constitution, the seeds of death. 

The envy and malice of Colman prevented the comedy She 
Stoops to Conquer, from being acted until the following March, and 
it was only then done through the kind remonstrances of Johnson. 
It met with the most perfect and deserved success, but very little 
was obtained from Newbery for the copyright. 

A plan which he had formed for a Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, 
to which Johnson, Burke, Reynolds, Garrick, and Burney, had 
agreed to contribute, fell to the ground through want of con- 
fidence on the part of the booksellers towards the author, who was 



MEMOIR OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. XV 

known to have much work still in hand. He was also disappointed 
of receiving a pension, which he had hoped to obtain. Washington 
Irving considers this attributahle to his having once refused to be- 
come " a ministerial hack." 

Ill-health and low spirits came fast upon him. Embarrassed 
with work, and hard pressed for money, his gaiety forsook him, 
and he once promised to dine with a friend, upon condition that he 
should be asked to eat nothing — nor did he, Perhaps his last 
moments of real happiness were passed in the society of Miss 
Horneck, on a Christmas invitation to the house of her sister; and 
even to contrive this, he had to increase a debt of £40 to Garrick, 
the actor, to £100, for which sum he gave his note of hand. 

We have arrived at the period of Goldsmith's last literary perform- 
ance, a satire called Retaliation. On one occasion when he happened 
to be behind time at an entertainment, some of the company face- 
tiously called him " the late Dr. Goldsmith," and some epitaphs were 
thrown off upon him. The only one remembered is by Garrick : — 

" Here lies Poet Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll, 
Who wrote like an angel, hut talked like poor Poll." 

This somewhat annoyed Goldsmith, who determined to fight on his 
adversary's ground, and accordingly, a severe and clever sketch of 
Garrick was given in Retaliation, which also called for its reply. 
An unfinished epitaph, praising the goodness of Sir Joshua Reynolds, 
was the last act of friendship which the poet performed, and he died, 
leaving the picture incomplete. No precise malady is mentioned, 
but his death is attributed to general weakness and fever, heightened 
by a persevering use of improper medicine. His death took place, 
April 4, 1774. 

In the same year appeared the History of Greece with the follow^- 
ing advertisement prefixed : — " The applause bestowed on the Roman 
History, written by Doctor Goldsmith, induced that gentleman to 



XVI MEMOIR OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

complete his plan, by writing a History of Greece. The work was 
printed off when the republic of letters was deprived of one of its 
brightest ornaments. Since the author's decease, the work has been 
perused by several of his learned friends, who are of opinion, that 
it has an equal claim to that approbation which the Roman History 
received from the public," 

" His death," says Washington Irving, " was a shock to the literary 
world, and a deep affliction to a wide circle of intimates and friends; 
for, with all his foibles and peculiarities, he was fully as much 
beloved as he was admired, Burke, on hearing the news, burst into 
tears. Sir Joshua Reynolds threw by his pencil for the day, and 
grieved more than he had done in times of great family distress. 
Johnson felt the blow deeply and gloomily. In writing some time 
afterwards to Boswell, he observed l Of poor Dr. Goldsmith there is 
little to be told more than the papers have made public. He died 
of a fever, made, I am afraid, more violent by uneasiness of mind. 
His debts began to be heavy, and all his resources were exhausted. 
Sir Joshua is of opinion that he owed no less than two thousand 
pounds. Was ever poet so trusted before?" 

Surely the grief of these great men was the highest panegyric 
thev could bestow. 



THE TRAVELLER; 

OK, 

A PROSPECT OF SOCIETY. 



DEDICATION. 



To the Rev. Henry Goldsmith. 



Dear Sir, 

I am sensible that the friendship between us can acquire no new force 
from the ceremonies of a Dedication ; and perhaps it demands an excuse 
thus to prefix your name to my attempts, which you decline giving with 
your own. But as a part of this poem was formerly written to you from 
Switzerland, the whole can now, with propriety, be only inscribed to you. 
It will also throw a light upon many parts of it, when the reader under- 
stands that it is addressed to a man, who, despising fame and fortune, has 
retired early to happiness and obscurity, with an income of forty pounds 
a year. 

I now perceive, my dear brother, the wisdom of your humble choice. 
You have entered upon a sacred office, where the harvest is great, and the 
labourers are but few ; while you have left the field of ambition, where 
the labourers are many, and the harvest not worth carrying away. But 
of all kinds of ambition, what from the refinement of the times, from dif- 
ferent systems of criticism, and from the divisions of party, that which 
pursues poetical fame is the wildest. 

Poetry makes a principal amusement among unpolished nations ; but 
in a country verging to the extremes of refinement, Painting and Music 
come in for a share. As these offer the feeble mind a less laborious en- 
tertainment, they at first rival Poetry, and at length supplant her ; they 

b2 - 



DEDICATION. 

engross all that favour once shewn to her, and, though but younger 
sisters, seize upon the elder's birth-right. 

Yet, however, this art may be neglected by the powerful, it is still in 
greater danger from the mistaken efforts of the learned to improve it. 
What criticisms have we not heard of late in favour of blank verse, and 
pindaric odes, choruses, anapests and iambics, alliterative care and happy 
negligence ! Every absurdity has now a champion to defend it ; and as 
he is generally much in the wrong, so he has always much to say, for 
error is ever talkative. 

But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous, I mean party. 
Party entirely distorts the judgment, and destroys the taste. When the 
mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what 
contributes to increase the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists 
from pursuing man, after having once preyed upon human flesh, the 
reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, makes ever 
after the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation. Such readers 
generally admire some half-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold 
man, having lost the character of a wise one. Him they dignify with the 
name of poet : his tawdry lampoons are called satires ; his turbulence is 
said to be force, and his plrrenzy fire. 

What reception a poem may find, which has neither abuse, party, nor 
blank verse to support it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My 
aims are right. Without espousing the cause of any party, I have at- 
tempted to moderate the rage of all. I have endeavoured to show, that 
there may be equal happiness in states that are differently governed from 
our own ; that every state has a particular principle of happiness, and 
that this principle in each may be carried to a mischievous excess. There 
are few can judge better than yourself how far these positions are illus- 
trated in this poem. I am, 

Deab Sir, 

Your most affectionate brother, 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



THE TRAVELLER. 



Remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow, 
Or by the lazy Scheld, or wandering Po ; 
Or onward where the rude Carinthian boor 
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door, 
Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, 
A weary waste expanding to the skies — 
Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, 
My heart, untrayelPd, fondly turns to thee ; 
Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, 
And drags at each remove a lengthening chain. 

Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 
And round his dwelling guardian saints attend : 
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire 
To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire : 



6 goldsmith's poetical wokks. 

Blest that abode, where want and pain repair^ 

And eyery stranger finds a ready chair ; 

Blest he those feasts with simple plenty crown ? d ? 

Where all the rnddy family around 

Langh at the jests or pranks that neyer fail, 




Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale ; 
Or press the "bashful stranger to his food, 
And learn the luxury of doing good. 



But me, not destin'd such delights to share. 
My prime of life in wandering spent and care — 
Impelled with steps unceasing to pursue 
Some fleeting good that mocks me with the yiew. 
That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, 
Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies — 
My fortune leads to trayerse realms alone, 
And find no spot of all the world my own, 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS, 



E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 
I sit me down a pensiye hour to spend ; 




And placed on high, ahove the storm's career, 
Look downward where a hundred realms appear — 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide, 
The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. 

When thus creation's charms around combine, 
Amidst the store should thankless pride repine ? 
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain I 



8 GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 

Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, 

These little things are great to little man ; 

And wiser he whose sympathetic mind 

Exults in all the good of all mankind. 

Ye glittering towns with wealth and splendour crown'd; 

Ye fields where summer spreads profusion round ; 




Ye lakes whose vessels catch the husy gale ; 
Ye "bending swains that dress the flowery yale ; 
For me your tributary stores combine ; 
Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine ! 



GOLDSMITH'S POETICAL WORKS. 

As some lone miser, visiting his store, 
Bends at Ms treasure, counts, recounts it o'er ; 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, 
Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 
Thus to my hreast alternate passions rise, 
Pleas'd with each good that Heayen to man supplies, 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 
To see the hoard of human "bliss so small ; 
And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find 
Some spot to real happiness consigned, 
Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, 
May gather "bliss, to see my fellows West. 

But where to find that happiest spot "below, 
Who can direct, when all pretend to know ? 
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 
And his long nights of reyelry and ease ; 
The naked negro, panting at the line, 
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid waye, 
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 

Such is the patriot's Tboast, where'er we roam, 
His first, hest country, ever is at home. 
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare, 
And estimate the "blessings which they share. 



10 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Though, patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind ; 
As different good, by art or nature given, 
To different nations, makes their hlessings even. 

Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 
Still grants her bliss at labour's earnest call : 
With food as well the peasant is supplied 
On Idra's cliff as Arno's shelvy side ; 
And though the rocky-crested summits frown, 
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. 
From art more various are the blessings sent — 
Wealth, commerce, honour, liberty, content ; 
Yet these each other's power so strong contest, 
That either seems destructive of the rest : 
Where wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails, 
And honour sinks where commerce long prevails. 
Hence every state, to one lov'd blessing prone, 
Conforms and models life to that alone ; 
Each to the favourite happiness attends ; 
And spurns the plan that aims at other ends — 
Till, carried to excess in each domain, 
This favourite good begets peculiar pain. 

But let us try these truths with closer eyes, 
And trace them through the prospect as it lies : 
Here, for a while my proper cares resign' d, 
Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind ; 
Like yon neglected shrub, at random cast, 
That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 



11 



Far to the right, where Appennine ascends, 
Bright as the summer, Italy extends : 




Its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, 
Woods oyer woods in gay theatric pride, 
While oft some temple's mouldering tops between 
With venerable grandeur mark the scene. 



12 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Could nature's county satisfy tlie breast, 
The sons of Italy were surely blest. 
Whatever fruits in different climes are found, 
That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground— 
Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 
Whose bright succession decks the varied year — 
Whatever sweets salute the northern sky 
With vernal lives, that blossom but to die — 
These here disporting own the kindred soil, 
Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 
While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand 
To winnow fragrance round the smiling land. 

But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, 
And sensual bliss is all the nation knows ; 
In florid beauty groves and fields appear — 
Man seems the only growth that dwindles here. 
Gontrasted faults through all his manners reign : 
Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; 
Though grave, yet trifling ; zealous, yet untrue ; 
And even in penance planning sins anew. 
All evils here contaminate the mind, 
That opulence departed leaves behind ; 
For wealth was theirs — nor far removed the date 
When commerce proudly flourished through the state. 
At her command the palace learn' d to rise, 
Again the long-fallen column sought the skies, 
The canvass glow'd, beyond e'en nature warm, 
The pregnant quarry teem'd with human form ; 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WOKKS. 

Till, more unsteady than the southern gale, 
Commerce on other shores displayed her sail, 
While nought remained, of all that riches gave, 
But towns unmanned and lords without a slaye — 
And late the nation found, with fruitless skill, 
Its former strength was but plethoric ill. 

Yet, still the loss of wealth is here supplied 
By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride : 
from these the feehle heart and long-fallen mind 
An easy compensation seem to find. 
Here may he seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, 
The pasteboard triumph and the cavalcade ; 



13 




Processions formed for piety and love- 
A mistress or a saint in every groye : 



14 goldsmith's poetical works. 

By sports like these are all their cares beguiFd ; 
The sports of children satisfy the child. 
Each nobler aim, represt by long control, 
Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; 
While low delights, succeeding fast behind, 
In happier meanness occnpy the mind. 
As in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway, 
Defaced by time and tottering in decay, 
There in the ruin, heedless of the dead, 
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; 
And, wondering man could want the larger pile, 
Exults, and owns his cottage with a smile. 

My soul, turn from them, turn we to survey 
Where rougher climes a nobler race display — 
Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansions tread, 
And force a churlish soil for scanty bread. 
No product here the barren hills afford 
But man and steel, the soldier and his sword ; 
No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, 
But winter lingering chills the lap of May ; 
No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, 
But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest. 

Yet still, even here, content can spread a charm, 
Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. 
Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, 
He sees his little lot the lot of all 
Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, 
To shame the meanness of his humble shed — 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



15 



jNo costly lord the sumptuous banquet deal, 
To make liim loathe Ms vegetable meal — • 
But calm, and bred in ignorance and toil, 
Each wish contracting, fits him to the soil. 
Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, 
Breathes the keen air, and carols as he goes ; 
With patient angle trolls the finny deep ; 
Or driyes his venturous ploughshare to the steep ; 
Or seeks the den where snow-tracks mark the way, 
And drags the struggling savage into day. 
At night returning, every labour sped, 
He sits him down the monarch of a shed ; 
Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys 
His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze- 
While his lov ? d partner, boastful of her hoard, 
Displays her cleanly platter on the board : 




And haply too some pilgrim, thither led ; 
With many a tale repays the nightly bed. 



16 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Thus ev'ry good Ms native wilds impart 
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 
And e'en those hills, that round his mansion rise, 
En nance the hliss his scanty fund supplies : 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 
And dear that hill which lifts him to the storms ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast — 
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Such are the charms to barren states assign'd — 
Their wants but few, their wishes all connn'd ; 
Yet let them only share the praises due, 
If few their wants, their pleasures are but few : 
For every want that stimulates the breast 
Becomes a source of pleasure when redress'd. 
Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, 
That first excites desire, and then supplies. 
Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, 
To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; 
Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, 
Catch every nerve and vibrate through the frame : 
Their level life is but a smouldering fire, 
Unquench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire ; 
Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer 
On some high festival of once a year, 
In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, 
Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 17 

But not their joys alone thus coarsely now — 
Their morals, like their pleasures, are hut low ; 
For, as refinement stops, from sire to son, 
Unaltered, uniiaprov'd, the manners run — 
And love's and friendship's finely pointed dart 
Fall "blunted from each indurated heart. 
Some sterner virtues o'er the mountain's breast 
May sit, like falcons cowering on the nest ; 
But all the gentler morals, such as play 
Through life's more cultur'd walks, and charm the way — 
These, far dispers'd, on timorous pinions fly, 
To sport and flutter in a kinder sky. 

To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, 
I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. 
Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease, 
Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please — 



How often have I led thy sportive choir, 
With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire ! 

c 



18 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Where shading elms along the margin grew, 
And, freshen' d from the wave, the zephyr flew ! 
And haply, though my harsh touch, faltering still, 
But mock'd all tune, and marr'd the dancer's skill — 
Yet would the village praise my wondrous power, 
And dance, forgetful of the noontide hour. 
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days 
Have led their children through the mirthful maze ; 
And the gay grandsire, skilPd in gestic lore, 
Has frisk'd beneath the burthen of threescore. 

So bless'd a life these thoughtless realms display ; 
Thus idly busy rolls their world away. 
Theirs are those arts that mind to mind endear, 
For honour forms the social temper here : 
Honour, that praise which real merit gains, 
Or even imaginary worth obtains, 
Here passes current — paid from hand to hand, 
It shifts in splendid traffic round the land ; 
From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, 
And all are taught an avarice of praise — 
They please, are pleased, they give to get esteem, 
Till, seeming blest they grow to what they seem. 

But while this softer art their bliss supplies, 
It gives their follies also room to rise ; 
For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, 
Enfeebles all internal strength of thought : 
And the weak soul, within itself unblest, 
Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 

Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art, 
Pants for the yulgar praise which fools impart, 
Here vanity assumes her pert grimace, 
And trims her robes of frieze with copper lace ; 
Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer, 
To boast one splendid banquet once a year : 
The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws, 
Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. 

To men of other minds my fancy flies, 
Embosom'd in the deep where Holland lies. 



19 




Methinks her patient sons before me stand, 
Where the broad ocean leans against the land ; 
And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, 
Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride. 
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, 
The firm connected bulwark seems to grow, 



c2 



20 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Spreads its long arms amidst the watery roar, 
Scoops out an empire, and usurps the shore — 
While the pent ocean, rising o'er the pile, 
Sees an amphihious world beneath him smile ; 
The slow canal, the yellow blossom' d vale, 
The willow-tufted hank, the gliding sail, 
The crowded mart, the cultivated plain — 
A new creation rescued from his reign. 

Thus, while around the waye-subjected soil 
Impels the native to repeated toil, 
Industrious habits in each bosom reign, 
And industry begets a love of gain. 
Hence all the good from opulence that springs, 
With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, 
Are here displayed. Their much-lov'd wealth imparts 
Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; 
But view them closer, craft and fraud appear — 
Even liberty itself is bartered here. 
At gold's superior charms all freedom flies ; 
The needy sell it, and the rich man buys : 
A land of tyrants, and a den of slaves, 
Here wretches seek dishonourable graves ; 
And, calmly bent, to servitude conform, 
Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. 

Heavens ! how unlike their Belgic sires of old — 
Eough, poor, content, ungovernably bold, 
War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; 
How much unlike the sons of Britain now ! 



goldsmith's poetical works. 21 

Fir'd at the sound, my genius spreads her wing, 
And flies where Britain courts the western spring ; 
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride, 
And brighter streams than fam'd Hydaspis* glide. 
There, all around, the gentlest "breezes stray ; 
There gentle music melts on ev'ry spray ; 
Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd : 
Extremes are only in the master's mind. 
Stern o'er each bosom reason holds her state, 
With daring aims irregularly great. 
Pride in their port, defiance in their eye, 
I see the lords of human kind pass by, 
Intent on high designs — a thoughtful band, 
By forms unfashion'd, fresh from nature's hand, 
Fierce in their native hardiness of soul, 
True to imagined right, aboye controul ; 
While eyen the peasant boasts these rights to scan, 
And learns to venerate himself as man. 

Thine, freedom, thine the blessings pictured here, 
Thine are those charms that dazzle and endear ; 
Too blest, indeed, were such without alloy, 
But, fostered e'en by freedom, ills annoy ; 
That independence Britons prize too high, 
Keeps man from man, and breaks the social tie : 
The self-dependent lordlings stand alone — 
All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown. 

* A river in India, now called the Jelum. 



22 goldsmith's poetical wouks. 

Here, by the bonds of nature feebly held, 
Minds combat minds, repelling and repelPd ; 
Ferments arise, imprisoned factions roar. 
Repressed ambition struggles round her shore — 
Till, overwrought, the general system feels 
Its motions stopp'd, or frenzy fire the wheels. 

Nor this the worst. As nature's ties decay, 
A.s duty, loye, and honour fail to sway, 
Fictitious bonds, the bonds of wealth and law, 
Still gather strength, and force unwilling awe. 
Hence all obedience bows to these alone, 
And talent sinks, and merit weeps unknown ; 
Till time may come, when, stripp'd of all her charms, 
The land of scholars, and the nurse of arms — 
Where noble stems transmit the patriot flame, 
Where kings haye toil'd, and poets wrote for fame- 
One sink of leyel ayarice shall lie, 
And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. 

Yet think not, thus when freedom^ ills I state. 
I mean to flatter kings, or court the great. 
Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, 
Far from my bosom driye the low desire ! 
And thou, fair freedom, taught alike to feel 
The rabble's rage, and tyrant's angry steel — 
Thou transitory flower, alike undone 
By proud contempt, or fayour's fostering sun — 
Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure ! 
I only would repress them to secure ; 



Goldsmith's poetical works. 23 

For just experience, tells in ev'ry soil, 

That those who think must govern those that toil — 

And all that freedom's highest aims can reach 

Is but to lay proportioned loads on each. 

Hence, should one order disproportioned grow, 

Its double weight must ruin all below. 

Oh, then, how blind to all that truth requires, 
Who think it freedom when a part aspires ! 
Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, 
Except when fast approaching danger warns ; 
But, when contending chiefs blockade the throne, 
Contracting regal power to stretch their own- 
When I behold a factious band agree 
To call it freedom when themselves are free — 
Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw, 
Laws grind the poor, and rich men rule the law — 
The wealth of climes, where savage nations roam, * 
Pillag'd from slaves to purchase slaves at home — 
Fear, pity, justice, indignation, start, 
Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart : 
Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, 
I fly from petty tyrants to the throne. 

Yes, brother ! curse with me that baleful hour 
When first ambition struck at regal power; 
And thus, polluting honour in its source, 
Gave wealth to sway the mind with double force. 
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore, 
Her useful sons exchanged for useless ore ? 



24 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WOKK3. 



Seen all lier triumphs but destmction haste, 

Like flaring tapers brightening as they waste ? 

Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, 

Lead stern depopulation in her train, 

And oyer fields where scattered hamlets rose, 

In barren solitary pomp repose ? 

Have we not seen, at pleasure's lordly call, 

The smiling long-frequented yillage fall 1 

Beheld the duteous son, the sire decayed, 

The modest matron, and the blushing maid, 

Forc ? d from their homes, a melancholy train, 




To traverse climes beyond the western main- 



goldsmith's poetical works. 25 

Where wild Oswego * spreads her swamps around, 
And Niagara stuns with thundering sound ? 

Eyen now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays 
Through tangled forests and through dangerous ways, 
Where beasts with man diyided empire claim, 
And the brown Indian marks with murderous aim — 
There, while aboye the giddy tempest flies, 
And all around distressful yells arise — 
The pensiye exile, bending with his woe, 
To stop too fearful, and too faint to go, 
Casts a long look where England's glories shine, 
And bids his bosom sympathize with mine. 

Vain, yery yain, my weary search to find 
That bliss which only centres in the mind. 
Why haye I stray'd from pleasure and repose, 
To seek a good each goyernment bestows ? 
In eyery goyernment, though terrors reign, 
Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain, 
How small, of all that human hearts endure, 
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure ! 
Still to ourselves in eyery place consigned, 
Our own felicity we make or find. 
With secret course, which no loud storms annoy, 
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy ; 

* Oswego — a river of North America running into Lake Ontario. 



26 goldsmith's poetical works. 

The lifted axe, tlie agonizing wheel, 
Zeck's iron crown, and Damiens'* bed of steel, 
To men remote from power bnt rarely known — 
Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. 



* George and Luke Zeck headed an insurrection in Hungary, 1514, 
George usurped the sovereignty and was punished by a red-hot iron 
crown. Damiens attempted the assassination of Louis XV. of France, in 
1757, was tortured to death. 



THE DESEETED VILLAGE. 



DEDICATION. 



To Sir Joshua Reynolds. 



Dear Sir, 

I can have no expectations in an address of this kind, either to add to 
your reputation, or to establish my own. You can gain nothing from my 
admiration, as I am ignorant of that art in which you are said to excel ; 
and I may lose much by the severity of your judgment, as few have a 
juster taste in poetry than you Setting interest therefore aside, to which 
I never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present in following 
my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, 
because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. 
Permit me to inscribe this poem to you. 

How far you may be pleased with the versification and mere mechanical 
parts of this attempt, I do not pretend to enquire : but I know you will 
object (and indeed several of our best and wisest friends concur in the 
opinion) that the depopulation it deplores is no where to be seen, and the 
disorders it laments are only to be found in the poet's own imagination. 
To this I can scarce make any other answer, than that I sincerely believe, 
what I have written ; that I have taken all possible pains in my country 
excursions, for these four or five years past, to be certain of what I 
allege ; and that all my views and enquiries have led me to believe those 
miseries real, which I here attempt to display. But this is not the place 
to enter into an enquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not ; 



DEDICATION. 

the discussion would take up much room, and I should prove myself, at 
best, an indifferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when 
I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. 

In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the 
increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect the shout of modern 
politicians against me. For twenty or thirty years past it has been the 
fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages ; and 
all the wisdom of antiquity, in that particular, as erroneous. Still, 
however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, and continue to 
think those luxuries prejudicial to states hy which so many vices are 
introduced, and so many kingdoms have heen undone. Indeed so much 
has been poured out of late on the other side of the question, that, merely 
for the sake of novelty and variety, one would sometimes wish to he in 
the right. 

I am, Dear Sib, 
Your sincere friend, and ardent admirer, 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 



THE 

DESERTED VILLAGE. 



Sweet Aubum ! loveliest village of the plain, 
Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid, 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed— 
Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 
Seats of my youth, when every sport could please- 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green, 
Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ; 
How often have I paus'd on every charm — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 
The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill, 
The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 
For talking age and whispering lovers made ; 
How often have I bless'd the coming day 
When toil remitting lent its turn to play, 
And all the village train, from labour free, 
Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree- 
While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
The young contending as the old survey' d, 



32 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 



And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground, 
And sleights of art and feats of strength went round : 
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired 
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired ; 




The dancing pair that simply sought renown 

By holding out to tire each other down, 

The swain mistrustless of his smutted face, 

While secret laughter tittered round the place, 

The bashful yirgin's sidelong looks of loye, 

The matron's glance that would those looks reprove. 

These were thy charms, sweet Tillage ! sports like these, 

With sweet succession, taught eyen toil to please ; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed ; 

These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 



33 



Sweet smiling Tillage, loveliest of the lawn, 
Thy sports are tied, and all thy charms withdrawn; 
Amidst thy Lowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 
And desolation saddens all thy green : 
One only master grasps the whole domain, 
And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain. 
]No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 
But choked with sedges works its weary way ; 




Along thy glades, a solitary guest, 
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 
And tires their echoes with unvaried cries ; 



34 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all, 
And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 
And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
Far, far away, thy children leave the land. 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay : 
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade — 
A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 
When once destroyed, can neyer be supplied. 

A time there was, ere England's griefs began, 
When every rood of ground maintain' d its man ; 
For him light labour spread her wholesome store, 
Just gave what- life requir'd, but gave no more : 
His best companions, innocence and health, 
And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train 
Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain : 
Along the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, 
Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; 
And every want to luxury allied, 
And every pang that folly pays to pride. 
Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 
Those calm desires that ask'd but little room, 
Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene, 
Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green ; 
These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
And rural mirth and manners are no more. 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



35 



Sweet Auburn ! parent of the blissful hour, 
Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 
Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 
Amidst thy tangling walks and ruin'd grounds, 




And, many a year elaps'd return to yiew 
Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew- 
Eemembrance wakes with all her busy train, 
Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 

In all my wand'rings round this world of care, 
In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 

d2 



36 



goldsmith's poetical works. 



I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown, 
Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down ; 
To husband out life's taper at the close, 
And keep the flame from wasting, by repose. 
I still had hopes, for pride attends us still, 
Amidst the swains to show my book-learn' d skill- 
Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; 




And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
Pants to the place from whence at first he flew, 
I still had hopes, my long vexations past 
Here to return — and die at home at last. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 37 

bless'd retirement, friend to life's decline, 
Eetreats from care, that neyer must be mine ? 
How blest is lie who crowns, in shades like these, 
A youth of labour with an age of ease ; 
Who quits a world where strong temptations try — 
And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly. 
For him no wretches, born to work and weep, 
Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 
No surly porter stands, in guilty state, 
To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; 
But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
Angels around befriending virtue's friend — 
Sinks to the grave with unperceiv'd decay, 
While resignation gently slopes the way — 
And, all his prospects brightening to the last, 
His heaven commences ere the world be passed. 

Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close 
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose. 




There, as I pass'd with careless steps and slow, 
The mingling notes came soften'd from below : 



38 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung. 
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young, 




The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 

The playful children just let loose from school. 

The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whispering wind, 

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind — 

These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, 

And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made. 

But now the sounds of population fail, 

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WOKKS. 39 

No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 

For all the Mooming flush of life is fled — 

All but yon widow'd, solitary thing, 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; 

She, wretched matron — forc ? d in age, for bread, 

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 

To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn — 

She only left of all the harmless train, 

The sad historian of the pensive plain ! 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
And still where many a garden flower grows wild — 
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, 
The Tillage preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear ; 
And passing rich with forty pounds a year. 
Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change, his place ; 
Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, 
By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour, 
Far other aims his heart had learn 7 d to prize — 
More bent to raise the wretched than to rise. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train ; 
He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain : 
The long-remember' d beggar was his guest, 
Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; 
The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud, 
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claims allow'd ; 



40 



goldsmith's poetical works. 



The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, 
Sat by bis fire, and talk ? d tbe night away — 
Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, 
Shoulder'd his crntch and showed how fields were won. 
Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn' d to glow, 
And quite forgot their yices in their woe ; 
Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
His pity gave ere charity began. 




Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, 
And eyen his failings lean'd to virtue's side — 
But in his duty, prompt at eyery call, 
He watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, for all 
And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 
To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 
He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, 
Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way, 



goldsmith's poetical works. 41 

Beside the bed where parting life was laid. 
And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismayed, 
The reyerend champion stood . At bis control 
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 
Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 
And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 

At church, with meek and unaffected grace, 
His looks adorn'd the yenerable place ; 
Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 
And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 
The seryice pass'd, around the pious man, 
With ready zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 
Eyen children follow'd, with endearing wile, 
And pluck'd his gown, to share the good man's smile : 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed, 
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distressM. 
To them his heart, his loye, his griefs were giyen 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heayen : 
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the yale, and midway leayes the storm, 
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way 
With blossom 7 d furze unprofitably gay — 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilFd to rule, 
The yillage master taught his little school 
A man severe he was, and stern to yiew 
I knew him well, and eyery truant knew : 



42 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 



Well had the boding tremblers learn' d to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face 




Full well they laugh' d with counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Fnll well the bnsy whisper, circling round, 
Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frowned — 
Yet he was kind, or if severe in anght, 
The love he bore to learning was in fault. 
The Tillage all declared how much he knew ; 
'Twas certain he could write and cypher too ; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, 
And eyen the story ran that he could gauge. 
In arguing, too, the parson own'd his skill, 
For eyen though vanquish'd, he could argue still ; 
While words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around — 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he knew. 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



43 



But pass'd is all his fame, the yery spot, 
Where many a time he triumph/d, is forgot. 
Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 
Low lies that house where nut-hrown draughts inspired, 
WTiere grey-heard mirth and smiling toil retired, 




Where Tillage statesmen talked with looks profound, 

And news much older than their ale went round. 

Imagination fondly stoops to trace 

The parlour splendours of that festive place ; 

The white-wash/ d wall, the nicely sanded floor, 

The varnish' d clock that clicked behind the door — 



44 goldsmith's poetical works. 

The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 
A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day — 
The pictures placed for ornament and use, 
The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose — 
The hearth, except when winter chill' d the day, 
With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel gay — 
While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, 
Eanged o'er the chimney, glisten' d in a row. 

Vain transitory splendours ! could not all 
Eeprieye the tottering mansion from its fall ? 
Obscure it sinks ; nor shall it more impart 
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart : 
Thither no more the peasant shall repair 
To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, 
No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; 
No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, 
Eelax his ponderous strength and lean to hear ; 
The host himself no longer shall be found 
Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; 
Nor the coy maid, half-willing to be press'd, 
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
These simple blessings of the lowly train — 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm, than all the gloss of art. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 45 

Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 
The soul adopts, and owns their first horn sway — 
Lightly they frolic o'er the yacant mind, 
Unenyied, unmolested, unconfined ; 
But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 
With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, 
In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain, 
The toiling pleasure sickens into pain — 
And, eyen while fashion's brightest arts decoy, 
The heart distrusting asks, if this be joy 1 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who suryey 
The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay— 
'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand 
Between a splendid and a happy land. 
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore? 
And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 
Hoards eyen beyond the miser's wish abound, 
And rich men flock from all the world around ; 
Yet count our gains : this wealth is but a name 
That leayes our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 
Takes up a space that many poor supplied — 
Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 
Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 
The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 
Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth ; 
His seat where solitary spots are seen, 
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; 



46 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



Around the world each needful product flies, 
For all the luxuries the world supplies : 




While thus the land, adorn'd for pleasure, all 
In barren splendour feebly waits the fall. 

As some fair female, unadorn'd and plain, 
Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, 
Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies, 
INor shares with art the triumph of her eyes — 
But when those charms are passed, for charms are frail, 
When time advances, and when lovers fail — 
She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 
In all the glaring impotence of dress. 
Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd : 
In nature's simplest charms at first array'd — 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS, 47 

But verging to decline, its splendours rise, 
Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 
"While, scourged by famine, from the smiling land 
The mournful peasant leads his humble band — 
And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
The country blooms — a garden, and a grave. 

Where then, ah ! where shall poverty reside, 
To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride ? 
If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd 
He drives his flocks to pick the scanty blade, 
Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 
And even the bare-worn common is denied. 

If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 
To see profusion that he must not share ; 
To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; 
To see each joys the sons of pleasure know, 
Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe : 
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 
There, the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps display. 
There, the black gibbet glooms beside the way. 
The dome where pleasure holds her midnight reign, 
Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train — 
Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, 
The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ; 
Sure these denote one universal joy ? 



48 



goldsmith's poetical works. 



Are these thy serious thoughts ? — Ah ! turn thine eyes 
Where the poor houseless shiyering female lies. 




She onee> perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, 

Has wept at tales of innocence distressed — 

Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 

Now lost to all — her friends, her virtue fled, 

Near her betrayer's door she lays her head — 

And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour 

When idly first, ambitious of the town, 

She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn ! thine, the loveliest train, 
Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 
Even now, perhaps, hj cold and hunger led, 
At proud men's doors they ask a little bread. 



Ah, no ! To distant climes, a dreary scene, 
Where half the convex world intrudes between, 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



49 



Through torrid tracks with fainting steps they go, 

Where wild Altania* murmurs to their woe. 

Far different there from all that charni'd before, 

The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 

Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray, 

And fiercely shed intolerable day— 

Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling — 

Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crown' d, 

Where the dark scorpion gathers death around— 

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 

The rattling- terrors of the vengeful snake — 




Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
And savage men more murderous still than they — 

* The river Alatamaha, in Georgia, North America. 



50 



goldsmith's poetical woeks. 



While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, 
Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene ; 
The cooling brook, the grassy- vested green, 




The breezy coyert of the warhling grove, 
That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven ! what sorrows glooin'd that parting day, 
That called them from their native walks away ; 
When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 
Hung round the bowers, and fondly look'd their last — 



goldsmith's poetical works. 51 

And took a long farewell, and wished in yain 
For seats like these "beyond the western main — 
And, shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
Keturn'd and wept, and still return' d to weep. 
The good old sire, the first prepared to go 
To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe — 
But for himself, in conscious virtue brave, 
He only wish'd for worlds beyond the grave. 
His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 
The fond companion of his helpless years, 
Silent went next, neglectful of her charms, 
And left a lover's for her father's arms. 
With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
And bless'd the cot where every pleasure rose, 
And kiss'd her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 
And clasp' d them close, in sorrow doubly dear — 
Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief 
In all the silent manliness of grief. 

luxury ! thou curst by Heaven's decree, 
How ill exchanged are things like these for thee ! 
How do thy potions, with insidious joy, 
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! 
Kingdoms by thee, to sickly greatness grown, 
Boast of a florid vigour not their own : 
At every draught more large and large they grow, 
A bloated mass of rank unwieldy woe ; 
Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 
Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 

e 2 



52 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 



E'en now the devastation is begun, 
And half the "business of destruction done ; 
E'en now, me thinks, as pondering here I stand, 
I see the rural virtues leave the land. 




Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail 
That idly waiting flaps with every gale, 
Downward they move, a melancholy hand, 
Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand : 
Contented toil, and hospitable care, 
And kind connubial tenderness are there, 
And piety with wishes placed above, 
And steady loyalty, and faithful love. 
And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, 
Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; 
Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fame : 
Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried, 
My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 53 

Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, 
That found/ st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; 
Thou guide, by which the noble arts excel, 
Thou nurse of eyery yirtue, fare thee well ! 
Farewell ; and oh ! where'er thy yoice be tried, 
On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side, 
Whether where equinoctial feryours glow, 
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow, 
Still let thy yoice, prevailing oyer time, 
Eedress the rigours of th' inclement clime ; 
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasiye strain ; 
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 
Teach him, that states of natiye strength possessed, 
Though yery poor, may still be yery blessed ; 
That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 
As ocean sweeps the laboured mole away ; 
While self-dependent power can time defy, 
As rocks resist the billows and the sky. 



HAUNCH OF VENISON. 



A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LORD CLARE. 



Thanes, my lord, for your venison, for finer or fatter 
Never ranged in a forest, or smoked in a platter : 
The haunch was a picture for painters to study — 
The fat was so white, and the lean was so ruddy. 
Though my stomach was sharp, I could scarce help 

regretting 
To spoil such a delicate picture by eating : 
I had thoughts in my chamber to place it in view, 
To he shewn to my friends as a piece of virtu ; 
As in some Irish houses, where things are so so, 
One gammon of bacon hangs up for a show — 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 55 

But, for eating a rasher of what they take pride in, 
They'd as soon think of eating the pan it is fried in. 
But hold — let me pause — don't I hear you pronounce 
This tale of the "bacon's a damnahle bounce ; 
Well, suppose it a bounce — sure a poet may try 
By a bounce now and then, to get courage to fly. 

But, my lord, it's no bounce : I protest in my turn, 
It's a truth — and your lordship may ask Mr. Byrne.* 
To go on with my tale — as I gaz'd on the haunch, 
I thought of a friend that was trusty and staunch — 
So I cut it, and sent it to Eeynolds undrest, 
To paint it, or eat it, just as he lik'd it best. 
Of the neck and the breast I had next to dispose — 
'Twas a neck and a breast that might rival Monroe's — 
But in parting with these I was puzzled again, 
With the how, and the who, and the where, and the when 
There's Howard, and Coley, and Hogarth, and Hiff— 
I think they love venison — I know they loye beef; 
There's my countryman Higgins — oh ! let him alone 
For making a blunder or picking a bone. 
But hang it — to poets who seldom can eat, 
Your yery good mutton's a very good treat ; 
Such dainties to them their health it might hurt, 
It's like sending them ruffles, when wanting a shirt. 
While thus I debated, in reverie centered, 
An acquaintance, a friend as he called himself, entered; 

* Lord Clare's nephew. 



56 goldsmith's poetical works. 

An underbred, fine spoken fellow was "he, 

And lie smil'd as he look'd at the yen' son and me. 

" What have we got here 1 — Why this is good eating ! 

Yonr own I suppose — or is it in waiting V 9 

Why whose should it he ?" cry'd I with a flounce ; 

" I get these things often " — hut that was a bounce : 

" Some lords, my acquaintance, that settle the nation, 

Are pleas'd to be kind— but I hate ostentation.' ' 

u If that be the case then/' cried he, very gay, 
" I'm glad I haye taken this house in my way. 
To-morrow you take a poor dinner with me : 
No words — I insist on't — precisely at three. 
We'll haye Johnson, and Burke ; all the wits will be there; 
My acquaintance is slight, or I'd ask my lord Clare. 
And now that I think on't, as I am a sinner ! 
We wanted this venison to make out the dinner. 
What say you — a pasty, it shall, and it must, 
An my wife, little Kitty, is famous for crust. 
Here, porter — this venison with me to Mile-end ; 
No stirring, I beg — my dear friend — my dear friend !" 
Thus snatching his hat, he brush' d off like the wind, 
And the porter and eatables follow' d behind. 



Left alone to reflect, having emptied my shelf, 
And "nobody with me at sea but myself," 
Though I could not help thinking my gentleman hasty, 
Yet Johnson, and Burke, and a good venison pasty, 



goldsmith's poetical works. 57 

Were things that I never dislik'd in my life — 
Though clogg'd with a coxcomb, and Kitty his wife ; 
So next day in due splendour to make my approach, 
I drove to his door in my own hackney coach. 

When come to the place where we all were to dine — 
A chair-lumber' d closet just twelve feet by nine — 
My friend bad me welcome, but struck me quite dumb 
With tidings that Johnson and Burke could not come ; 
" For I knew it," he cried, "both eternally fail, 
The one with his speeches, and t'other with Thrale : 
But no matter, I'll warrant we'll make up the party, 
With two full as clever, and ten times as hearty. 
The one is a Scotchman, and the other a Jew, 
They're both of them merry, and authors like you ; 
The one writes the Snarler, the other the Scourge ; 
Some think he writes Cinna — he owns to Panurge." 
While thus he describ'd them by trade and by name, 
They enter' d, and dinner was serv'd as they came. 

At the top a fried liver and bacon were seen, 
At the bottom was tripe, in a swinging tureen ; 
At the sides there were spinach and pudding made hot ; 
In the middle a place were the pasty — was not. 
Now, my lord, as for tripe, it's my utter aversion, 
And your bacon I hate like a Turk or a Persian ; 
So there I sat stuck like a horse in a pound, 
While the bacon and liver went merrily round. 
But what vex' d me most, was that damn'd Scottish rogue, 
With his long-winded speeches, his smiles, and his brogue, 



58 goldsmith's poetical works. 

And, " Madam," quoth he, " may this bit be my poison; 

A prettier dinner I neyer set eyes on ; 

Pray a slice of your liver, though may I be curst, 

But I've eat of your tripe till Fm ready to burst." 

" The tripe," quoth the Jew, with his chocolate cheek, 

" I could dine on this tripe seyen days in a week : 

I like these here dinners so pretty and small — 

But your friend there, the doctor, eats nothing at all." 

" Oh — oh !" quoth my friend, " he'll come in a trice, 

He's keeping a corner for something that's nice : 

There's a pasty" — "A pasty !" repeated the Jew ; 

" I don't care if I keep a corner for't too." 

"What the de'il, mon, a pasty !" re-echo'd the Scot ; 

" Though splitting, I'll still keep a corner for that." 

" We'll all keep a corner," the lady cried out ; 

" We'll all keep a corner," was echoed about. 

While thus we resoly'd, and the pasty delay 'd, 

With looks that quite petrified, enter' d the maid ; 

A yisage so sad, and so pale with affright, 

Wak'd Priam, in drawing his curtains by night. 

But we quickly found out — for who could mistake her — 

That she came with some terrible news from the baker ; 

And so it fell out, for that negligent sloven 

Had shut out the pasty on shutting his oven. 

Sad Philomel thus — but let similes drop — 

And now that I think on't the story may stop. 

To be plain, my good lord, it's but labour misplac'd, 

To send such good verses to one of your taste. 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 59 

You've got an odd something — a kind of discerning — 
A relish, a taste, sicken' d over by learning — 
At least it's your temper, as very well known, 
That you think very slightly of all that's your own : 
So, perhaps, in your habits of thinking amiss, 
You may make a mistake, and think slightly of this. 



RETALIATION. 

A POEM. 



Dr. Goldsmith and some of his friends occasionally dined at the St. 
James's Coffeehouse. One day, it was proposed to write epitaphs on him. 
His country, dialect, and person, furnished subjects of witticism. He was 
called on for Retaliation, and, at their next meeting, produced the 
following poem. At the former of these meetings, as we learn from 
Cumberland, the party consisted of Dr. Barnard, Dean of Derry, Dr. 
Douglas, Johnson, Garrick, Goldsmith, Edmund and Richard Burke, 
Hickey, and Cumberland, with two or three others. One of the company 
having suggested the idea of writing extemporary epitaphs upon the 
parties present, Garrick wrote off-hand, some very humorous verses on 
Goldsmith, who was the first in jest, as he proved to be in reality, that 
they consigned to the grave. The Dean also gave him an epitaph, and 
Sir Joshua Reynolds illuminated the Dean's verses with a sketch of his 
bust, in pen and ink, inimitably caricatured. Neither Johnson nor Burke 
wrote anything, and Cumberland's verses were entirely complimentary. 
Goldsmith, it seems, felt somewhat sore at the jests of which he had been 
made the subject ; and it was for the purpose of restoring his good humour, 
that his companions insisted upon his retaliating. 

Of old, when Scarron Ms companions inyited, 
Each gnest brought his dish, and the feast was united ; 
If our landlord supplies us with heef and with fish, 
Let each guest bring himself — and he brings the best dish : 



goldsmith's poetical works, 61 

Our dean* shall be venison, just fresh from the plains ; 
Our Burkef shall be tongue, with the garnish of brains ; 
Our Will J shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour — 
And Dick§ with his pepper shall heighten their savour ; 
Our Cumberland's || sweet bread its place shall obtain ; 
And Douglas is^T pudding, substantial and plain ; 
Our Garrick's** a salad — for in him we see 
Oil, vinegar, sugar, and saltness agree ; 
To make out the dinner, full certain I am, 
That Eidge ff is anchovy^ and E eynolds is lamb ; 
That Hickey's §§ a capon, and, by the same rule, 
Magnanimous Goldsmith, a gooseberry fool. 
At a dinner so various, at such a repast, 
Who'd not be a glutton, and stick to the last ? 
Here, waiter, more wine, let me sit while I'm able, 
Till all my companions sink under the table ; 



* Dr. Thomas Barnard, Dean of Derry in Ireland, afterwards Bishop of 
Limerick ; he died in 1806. 

t Edmund Burke, the eminent statesman, orator, and writer; he 
died 1797. 

J William Bnrke, a kinsman of Edmund's, memher for Bedwin ; he 
died 1798. 

§ Richard Burke, younger brother of Edmund ; he died Recorder of 
Bristol, in 1794. 

|| Richard Cumberland, author of the West Indian, and other dramatic 
pieces; he died in 1811. 

Tf John Douglas, Canon of Windsor, afterwards Bishop of Salisbury ; 
he died in 1807. 

** David Garrick, the incomparable actor ; he died in 1779. 

ft John Ridge, a member of the Irish bar. 

tt Sir Joshua Reynolds, the eminent painter ; he died in 1792. 

§§ Thomas Hickey, an eminent attorney ; he died in 1794. 



62 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, 
Let me ponder — and tell what I think of the dead. 

Here lies the good dean, re-nnited to earth, 
Who mixt reason with pleasure, and wisdom with mirth : 
If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt — 
At least, in six weeks, I could not find them out ; 
Yet some haye declared, and it can't he denied 'em, 
That sly-hoots was cursedly cunning to hide 'em. 

Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, 
We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much ; 
Who, born for the uniyerse, narrow' d his mind, 
And to party gaye up what was meant for mankind. 
Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat 
To persuade Tommy Townshend* to lend him a yote ; 
Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, 
And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining. 
Though equal to all things, for all things unfit : 
Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit ; 
For a patriot too cool ; for a drudge disobedient ; 
And too fond of the right to pursue the expedient. 
In short, 'twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, sir — 
To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. 

Here lies honest William, whose heart was a mint. 
While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was in't : 

* Mr. T. Townshend, Member for Whitemirch. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 63 

The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, 

His conduct still right, with his argument wrong ; 

Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam — 

The coachman was tipsy, the chariot drove home ; 

Would you ask for his merits ? alas ! he had none ; 

What was good was spontaneous, his faults were his own. 

Here lies honest Eichard, * whose fate I must sigh at ; 
Alas ! that such frolic should now he so quiet. 
What spirits were his ! what wit and what whim ! 
Now "breaking a jest, and now creaking a limb ; 
Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the hall ; 
Now teazing and yexing, yet laughing at all ! 
In short, so proyoking a deyil was Dick, 
That we wished him full ten times a day at Old Nick ; 
But, missing his mirth and agreeahle yein, 
As often we wished to haye Dick back again. 

Here Cumberland lies, haying acted his parts, 
The Terence of England, the mender of hearts ; 
A flattering painter, who made it his care 
To draw men as they ought to he, not as they are. 
His gallants are all faultless, his women diyine, 
And comedy wonders at heing so fine ; 
Like a tragedy queen he has dizen'd her out — 
Or rather like tragedy giying a rout. 

* Mr. Richard Burke ; he fractured one of his arms and legs, at different 
times ; the Doctor has rallied him on these accidents, as a kind of retri- 
butive justice for breaking his jests upon other people. 



64 goldsmith's poetical works. 

His fools Lave their follies so lost in a crowd 
Of yirtues and feelings, that folly grows proud ; 
And coxcombs, alike in their failings alone. 
Adopting his portraits, are pleas'd with their own. 
Say, where has our poet this malady caught ? 
Or wherefore his characters thus without fault ? 
Say, was it that yainly directing his yiew 
To find out men's yirtues, and finding them few, 
Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, 
He grew lazy at last — and drew from himself? 

Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax — 
The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks : 
Come, all ye quack hards, and ye quacking diyines ; 
Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant reclines ! 
When satire and censure encircled his throne, 
I fear'd for your safety — I fear'd for my own , 
But now he is gone, and we want a detector, 
Our Doclds* shall he pious, our Kenricksf shall lecture — 
MacphersonJ write bombast, and call it a style — 
Our Townshend make speeches, and I shall compile ; 
Bew Lauders and Bowers the Tweed shall cross oyer, 
~No countryman liying their tricks to discover ; 
Detection her taper shall quench to a spark, 
And Scotchman meet Scotchman, and cheat in the dark. 

* The Eev. Dr. Dodd. 

t Dr. William Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil tavern, under 
the title of "The School of Shakespeare." 

% James Macpherson, who had lately published a worthless translation 
of the Iliad of Homer. 



golsdmith's poetical works. 65 

Here lies David Garrick — describe me who can ; 
An abridgment of all that was pleasant in man : 
As an actor, confess' d without riyal to shine ; 
As a wit, if not first, in the yery first line ; 
Yet, with talents like these, and an excellent heart, 
The man had his failings — a dupe to his art. 
Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, 
And beplaster ? d with rouge his own natural red. 
On the stage he was natural, simple, affecting ; 
? Twas only that when he was off, he was acting. 
With no reason on earth to go out of his way, 
He turn'd and he varied full ten times a day : 
Though secure of our hearts, yet confoundedly sick, 
If they were not his own by finessing and trick : 
He cast off his friends, as a huntsman his pack, 
For he knew when he pleased he could whistle them back. 
Of praise a mere glutton, he swallowed what came, 
And the puff of a dunce he mistook it for fame : 
Till his relish grown callous, almost to disease, 
Who pepper'd the highest, was surest to please. 
But let us be candid, and speak out our mind, 
If dunces applauded, he paid them in kind. 
Ye Kenricks,* ye Kellys,f and WoodfallsJ so grave, 
What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave? 



* Dr. William Kenrick, a reviewer, noted for his bitterness. He was 
the author of the letter on ' The Hermit,' in the St. James's Chronicle. 

t Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of 'False Delicacy,' 'Word to the Wise, 
4 Clementina,' 'School for Wives,' &c, &c. 

J Mr. William Woodfall, editor of the Morning Chronicle. 



66 goldsmith's poetical works. 

How did Grub Street re-echo the shouts that you raised 
While he was be-Roscius'd, and you were be-prais ? d? 
But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies, 
To act as an angel and mix with the skies : 
Those poets, who owe their best fame to his skill, 
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will, 
Old Shakespeare receive him with praise and with love, 
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.* 

* The following lines by Mr. Garrick, may, in some measure, account 
for the severity exercised by Dr. Goldsmith, in respect to that gentleman : — 

JUPITER AND MERCURY. A FABLE. 

Here, Hermes, says Jove, who with nectar was mellow, 

Go fetch me some clay — I will make an odd fellow ; 

Eight and wrong shall be jumbled, — much gold and some dross ; 

Without cause be he pleas'd, without cause be he cross: 

Be sure, as I work, to throw in contradictions, 

A great love of truth, yet a mind turn'd to fictions ! 

Now mix these ingredients, which warm'd in the baking, 

Turn'd to learning and gaming, religion and raking. 

With the love of a wench, let his writings be chaste ; 

Tip his tongue with strange matter, his pen with fine taste ; 

That the rake and the poet o'er all may prevail, 

Set fire to the head, and set fire to the tail : 

For the joy of each sex, on the world I'll bestow it, 

This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet ; 

Though a mixture so odd, he shall merit great fame, 

And among brother mortals — be Goldsmith his name ; 

When on earth this strange meteor no more shall appear, 

You, Hermes, shall fetch him — to make us sport here. 

ON DR. GOLDSMITH'S CHARACTERISTICAL COOKERY. A JEU D'ESPRIT. 

Are these the choice dishes the doctor has sent us ? 
Is this the great poet whose works so content us ? 
This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books ? 
Heaven sends us good meat, but the devil sends cooks. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 67 

Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt, pleasant creature, 
And slander itself must allow him good nature ; 
He cherished Ids friend, and he relish' d a "bumper, 
Yet one fault he had, and that was a thumper. 
Perhaps you may ask if the man was a miser : 
I answer, no, no — for he always was wiser : 
Too courteous, perhaps, or obligingly flat ? 
His yery worst foe can't accuse him of that : 
Perhaps he confided in men as they go, 
And so was too foolishly honest 1 — ah no ! 
Then what was his failing 1 come, tell it, and burn ye, — 
He was, could he help it 1 — a special attorney. 

Here Reynolds* is laid, and, to tell you my mind, 
He has not left a wiser or better behind ; 
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand ; 
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland ; 
Still born to improve us in eyery part, 
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart : 
To coxcombs ayerse, yet most ciyilly steering, 
When they judg'd without skill he was still hard of 

hearing : 
When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff, 
He shifted his trumpet,! and only took snuff. 



* Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf as to be under the 
necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. 



F 2 



68 goldsmith's poetical woeks. 



POSTSCEIPT. 



After the fourth, edition of this poem was printed, the publisher received 
the following epitaph on Mr. Whitefoord,* from a friend of the late 
Doctor Goldsmith. 



Here Whitefoord reclines, and deny it who can, 
Though he merrily liy ? d, he is now a grave f man : 
Rare compound of oddity, frolic, and fun ! 
Who relish' d a joke, and rejoiced in a pun ; 
Whose temper was generous, open, sincere ; 
A stranger to flattery, a stranger to fear ; 
Who scattered around wit and humour at will ; 
Whose daily bon mots half a column might fill : 
A Scotchman, from pride and from prejudice free ; 
A scholar, yet surely no pedant was he. 

What pity, alas ! that so liberal a mind 
Should so long he to newspaper essays confin'd ! 
Who perhaps to the summit of science could soar, 
Yet content c if the table he set in a roar ; ? 

* Mr. Caleh Whitefoord, author of many humourous essays, 

t Mr. W. was so notorious a punster, that Doctor Goldsmith used to say 

it was impossible to keep him company, without being affected with th« 

itch of punning. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 69 

Whose talents to fill any station were fit, 
Yet happy if Woodfall * confessed him a wit. 

Ye newspaper witlings ! ye pert scribbling folks ! 
Who copied his squibs, and re-echoed his jokes ; 
Ye tame imitators, ye servile herd, come, 
Still follow your master, and visit his tomb : 
To deck it r bring with you festoons of the yine, 
And copious libations bestow on his shrine ; 
Then strew all around it (you can do no less) 
Cross readings^ ship news, and mistakes of the press. 

Merry Whitefoord, farewell ! for thy sake I admit 
That a Scot may haye humour, I'd almost said wit : 
This debt to thy memory I cannot refuse, 
'Thou best humour'd man with the worst humoured 
muse.' 



* M. H. S. Woodfall, printer of the Public Advertiser. 
f Mr. Whitefoord has frequently indulged the town with humorous 
pieces under those titles in the Public Advertiser. 



70 goldsmith's poetical works. 



THE HERMIT. 

A BALLAD. 

LETTER 

TO THE PRINTER OF THE ST. JAMES'S CHRONICLE. 

Sib, 

As there is nothing I dislike so much as newspaper controversy, particu- 
larly upon trifles, permit me to to he as concise as possible in informing 
a correspondent of yours, that I recommended Blainville's Travels, because 
I thought the hook was a good one ; and I think so still. I said, I was 
told by the bookseller that it was then first published ; but in that, it 
seems, I was misinformed, and my reading was not extensive enough to 
set me right. 

Another correspondent of yours accuses me of having taken a ballad, I 
published some time ago, from one* by the ingenious Mr. Percy. I 
do not think there is any great resemblance between the two pieces in 
question. If there be any, his ballad is taken from mine. I read it to 
Mr. Percy some years ago ; and he (as we both considered these things 
as trifles at best) told me with his usual good humour, the next time I 
saw him, that he had taken my plan to form the fragments of Shakespeare 
into a ballad of his own. He then read me his little Cento, if I may so 
call it, and I highly approved it. Such petty anecdotes as these are 
scarce worth printing ; and were it not for the busy disposition of some 
of your correspondents, the public should never have known that he owes 
me the hint of his ballad, or that I am obliged to his friendship and 
learning, for communications of a much more important nature. 

I am, Sib, Yours, &c, 

OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 

* 'The Friar of Orders Gray.' Eeliq. ofAnc. Poetry, vol. i„ p. 243. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 



71 




THE HERMIT. 



" Turk, gentle Hermit of the dale, 
And guide my lonely way 

To where yon taper cheers the yale 
With hospitable ray. 



72 goldsmith's poetical works. 

" For here, forlorn and lost, I tread 
With fainting steps and slow — 

Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 
Seem lengthening as I go." 

" Forhear, my son," the Hermit cries, 
" To tempt the dangerous g]oom ; 

For yonder faithless phantom flies 
To lure thee to thy doom. 

" Here, to the houseless child of want 

My door is open still ; 
And, though my portion is but scant, 

I giye it with good will. 

" Then turn to-night, and freely share 
Whatever my cell "bestows — 

My rushy couch and frugal fare, 
My blessing and repose. 

" No flocks that range the yalley free 
To slaughter I condemn — 

Taught by that power that pities me, 
I learn to pity them ; 

" Bur, from the mountain's grassy side 
A guiltless feast I bring — 

A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 
And water from the spring. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 73 

" Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego ; 

All earth-born cares are wrong : 
Man wants but little here below, 

Nor wants that little long." 

Soft as the dew from heaven descends. 

His gentle accents fell ; 
The modest stranger lowly bends, 

And follows to the cell. 

Far, in a wilderness obscure 5 

The lonely mansion lay ; 
A refuge to the neighbouring poor, 

And strangers led astray. 

No stores heneath its humble thatch 

Requir'd a master's care ; 
The wicket, opening with a latch, 

Received the harmless pair. 

And now, when busy crowds retire 

To take their evening rest, 
The Hermit trimm'd his little fire, 

And cheered his pensive guest ; 

And spread his vegetable store, 

And gaily pressed, and smiled ; 
And, skill' d in legendary lore, 

The lingering hours beguiled. 



74 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Around; in sympathetic mirth 
Its tricks the kitten tries, — 

The cricket chirrnps in the hearth, 
The crackling faggot flies. 

But, nothing could a charm impart 
To soothe the stranger's woe — 

For grief was heavy at his heart, 
And tears "began to flow. 

His rising cares the hermit spied — 
With answering care oppressed : 

ec And whence, unhappy youth/ 7 he cried, 
The sorrows of thy breast ? 

" From Letter habitations spurn' d, 

Reluctant dost thou rove ? 
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, 

Or unregarded love ? 

"Alas I the joys that fortune brings 

Are trifling, and decay — 
And those who prize the paltry things, 

More trifling still than they ; 

" And what is friendship but a name, 
A charm that lulls to sleep — 

A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
And leaves the wretch to weep ? 



goldsmith's poetical works. 75 

" And love is still an emptier sound — 

The modern fair one's jest ; 
On earth unseen, or only found 

To warm the turtle's nest. 

"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush — 

And spurn the sex," he said ; 
But, while he spoke, a rising "blush 

His love-lorn guest betray' d : 

Surprised, he sees new beauties rise, 

Swift mantling to the view — 
Like colours o'er the morning skies, 

As bright, as transient too^ 

The bashful look, the rising breast, 

Alternate spread alarms : 
The lovely stranger stands confest, 

A maid in all her charms. 

" And, ah ! forgive a stranger rude, 

A wretch forlorn," she cried — 
" Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude 

Where heaven and you reside ; 

" But let a maid thy pity share, 
Whom love has taught to stray — 

Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 
Companion of her way. 



76 goldsmith's poetical works. 

u My father liv'd beside the Tyne — 

A wealthy lord was lie ; 
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine : 

He had but only me. 

" To win me from his tender arms 
Unnumbered suitors came ; 

Who prais'd me for imputed charms, 
And felt or feign' d a flame. 

" Each hour, a mercenary crowd 
With richest proffers stroye ; 

Among the rest young Edwin bow'd — 
But never talked of loye. 

a In humble, simplest habit clad, 
No wealth or pow'r had he ; 

Wisdom and worth were all he had, 
But these were all to me. 

" And when beside me in the dale 

He carolPd lays of loye ; 
His breath lent fragrance to the gale, 

And music to the grove. 

" The blossom opening to the day, 
The dews of heaven refined, 

Could nought of purity display 
To emulate his mind ; 



goldsmith's poetical works. 77 

" The dew, the "blossoms of the tree, 

With charms inconstant shine ; 
Their charms were his ; hut, woe to me, 

Their constancy was mine. 

" For still I tried each fickle art, 

Importunate and yain ; 
And while his passion touch 7 d my heart, 

I triumphed in his pain. 

" Till, quite dejected with my scorn, 

He left me to my pride ; 
And sought a solitude forlorn 

In secret, where he died. 

" But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, 

And well my life shall pay ; 
Til seek the solitude he sought, 

And stretch me where he lay. 

" And there, forlorn, despairing, hid — 

Fll lay me down and die ; 
J Twas so for me that Edwin did, 

And so for him will I." 

"Forbid it, heaven!" the hermit cried, 

And clasp'd her to his breast : 
The wondering fair one turn'd to chide — 

'Twas Edwin's self that prest. 



78 goldsmith's poetical works. 

" Turn, Angelina, ever dear — 

My charmer turn to see 
Thy own, thy long lost Edwin here, 

Restored to love and thee. 

" Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 

And eyery care resign ; 
And shall we never, neyer part, 

My life — my all that's mine ! 

" No ; neyer, from this hour to part, 
We'll live and love so true : 

The sigh that rends thy constant heart, 
Shall break thy Edwin's too." 



goldsmith's poetical wobks. 79 



DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. 



A TALE. 



Secluded from domestic strife, 

Jack Bookworm led a college life ; 

A fellowship, at twenty-five, 

Made him the happiest man alive ; 

He drank his glass, and crack' d his joke, 

And freshmen wonder' d as he spoke. 

Such pleasures, unallay'd with care, 
Gould any accident impair ? 
Could Cupid's shaft at length transfix 
Our swain, arrived at thirty-six 1 
had the archer ne'er come down 
To ravage in a country town ; 
Or Flavia been content to stop 
At triumphs in a Fleet-street shop. 
had her eyes forgot to Maze ! 
Or Jack had wanted eyes to gaze. 



80 goldsmith's poetical works. 

! But let exclamation cease ; 

Her presence banish'd all his peace : 
So with decorum all things carried, 
Miss frown' d and blush' d, and then was — married. 

Need we expose to yulgar sight 
The raptures of the bridal night ? 
Need we intrude on hallow' d ground, 
Or draw the curtains closed around 
Let it suffice, that each had charms : 
He clasp' d a goddess in his arms ; 
And, though she felt his usage rough, 
Yet in a man 'twas well enough. 

The honey-moon like lightning flew ; 
The second brought its transports too : 
A third, a fourth, were not amiss ; 
The fifth was friendship mix'd with bliss ; 
But, when a twelyemonth past away, 
Jack found his goddess made of clay ; 
Found half the charms that deck'd her face 
Arose from powder, shreds, or lace ; 
But still the worst remained behind — 
That yery face had robb'd her mind. 

Skill' d in no other arts was she 
But dressing, patching, repartee ; 
And, just as humour rose or fell, 
By turns a slattern or a belle. 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 



81 



'Tis true, she dressed with modern grace— 

Half-naked at a ball or race ; 

But when at home, at board or bed, 

Fiye greasy night-caps wrapped her head. 

Could so much beauty condescend 

To be a dull domestic friend ? 

Could any curtain lectures bring 

To decency so tine a thing 1 

In short — by night, 'twas fits or fretting 

By day, 'twas gadding or coquetting. 




Fond to be seen, she kept a bevy 
Of powder'd coxcombs at her leyee ; 



82 goldsmith's poetical works. 

The ' squire and captain took their stations, 

And twenty other near relations. 

Jack suck'd his pipe, and often broke 

A sigh in snffo eating smoke ; 

While all their hours were pass'd between 

Insulting repartee or spleen. 

Thus, as her faults each day were known, 
He thinks her features coarser grown : 
He fancies every yice she shows, 
Or thins her lip, or points her nose ; 
Whenever rage or enyy rise, 
How wide her mouth, how wild her eyes ! 
He knows not how, hut so it is, 
Her face is grown a knowing phiz ; 
And, though her fops are wond'rous civil, 
He thinks her ugly as the devil. 



Now, to perplex the ravelPd noose, 
As each a different way pursues — 
While sullen or loquacious strife 
Promised to hold them on for life — 
That dire disease, whose ruthless power 
Withers the beauty's transient flower— 
Lo ! the small-pox, whose horrid glare 
LevelFd its terrors at the fair ; 
And, rifling every youthful grace, 
Left hut the remnant of a face. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 83 

The glass, grown hateful to her sight, 
Reflected now a perfect fright. 
Each former art she yainly tries 
To hring hack lustre to her eyes ; 
In yain she tries her paste and creams 
To smooth her skin, or hide its seams : 
Her country "beaux and city cousins, 
Loyers no more, flew off by dozens ; 
The ? squire himself was seen to yield, 
And eyen the captain quit the field. 

Poor madam, now condemned to hack 
The rest of life with anxious Jack, 
Perceiying others fairly flown, 
Attempted pleasing him alone. 
Jack soon was dazzled to behold 
Her present face surpass the old. 
With modesty her cheeks are dy'd ; 
Humility displaces pride ; 
For tawdry finery is seen 
A person eyer neatly clean : 
INTo more presuming on her sway, 
She learns good-nature eyery day : 
Serenely gay, and strict in duty, 
Jack finds his wife a perfect beauty. 



g 2 



84 goldsmith's poetical works. 



THE GIFT. 



TO IRIS, IN BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 



Say, cruel Iris, pretty rake, 

Dear mercenary beauty, 
What annual offering shall I make 

Expressive of my duty ? 

My heart, a yictim to thine eyes, 

Should I at once deliyer, 
Say, would the angry fair one prize 

The gift, who slights the giver ? 

A bill, a jewel, watch, or toy, 
My riyals giye — and let 'em. 

If gems or gold impart a joy, 
I'll giye them — when I get 'em. 

I'll giye — but not the full blown rose, 
Or rosebud, more in fashion ; 

Such short liy'd offerings but disclose 
A transitory passion. 

I'll giye thee something yet unpaid, 

Not less sincere than civil ; 
I'll give thee — ah ! too charming maid, 

I'll give thee — to the devil. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 85 



THE LOGICIANS REFUTED. 



IN IMITATION OP DEAN SWIFT. 



Logicians haye Ibut ill denned 

As rational the human mind ; 

Reason, they say, belongs to man, 

But let them proye it if they can. 

Wise Aristotle and Smiglesins, 

By ratiocinations specious, 

Haye stroye to proye with great precision, 

With definition and diyision, 

Homo est ratione preditum ; 

But for my soul I cannot credit 'em. 

And must in spite of them maintain, 

That man and all his ways are yain ; 

And that this boasted lord of nature 

Is both a weak and erring creature. 

That instinct is a surer guide 

Than reason, boasting mortals' pride ; 

And that brute beasts are far before 'em, 

Deus est anima orutorum. 



86 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Who eyer knew an honest brute 

At law his neighbour prosecute, 

Bring action for assault and Lattery, 

Or friend beguile with lies and flattery? 

O'er plains they ramble unconfined, 

No politics disturb their mind ; 

They eat their meals, and take their sporty 

Nor know who's in or out at court, 

They never to the levee go 

To treat as dearest friend a foe : 

They never importune his grace, 

Nor ever cringe to men in place ; 

Nor undertake a dirty job. 

Nor draw the quill to write for Bob,^ 

Fraught with invective they ne'er go^ 

To folks at Paternoster-row : 

No judges, fiddlers, dancing-masters^ 

No pickpockets, or poetasters, 

Are known to honest quadrupeds, 

No single brute his fellows leads. 

Brutes never meet in bloody fray, 

Nor cut each others' throats for pay, 

Of beasts, it is confess' d the ape 

Comes nearest us in human shape, 

Like man he imitates each fashion, 

And malice is his ruling passion : 

But both in malice and grimaces 

A courtier any ape surpasses. 

* Sir Eobert Walpole. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 87 

Behold him humbly cringing wait 
Upon the minister of state : 
View him soon after to inferiors. 
Aping the conduct of superiors : 
He promises with equal air. 
And to perform takes equal care. 
He in his turn finds imitators ; 
At court, the porters, lacqueys, waiters, 
Their masters' manners still contract, 
And footman lords and dukes can act. 
Thus at the court both great and small 
Behave alike, for all ape all. 



SONNET. 



Weeping, murmuring, complaining, 

Lost to eyery gay delight; 
Myra, too sincere for feigning, 

Fears th ? approaching bridal night. 

Yet why impair thy bright perfection 1 
Or dim thy beauty with a tear 1 

Had Myra followed my direction, 
She long had wanted cause of fear. 



88 



GOLDSMITH S POETICAL WORKS. 




ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG MAN STRUCK BLIND 
BY LIGHTNING. 



IMITATED FROM THE SPANISH. 



Sure 'twas by providence designed, 
Rather in pity than in hate, 

That he should he, like Cupid, blind, 
To saye him from Narcissus' fate. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 89 



A NEW SIMILE. 

IN THE MANNER OF SWIFT. 



Long had. I sought in yain to find 
A likeness for the scribbling kind : 
The modern scribbling kind, who write, 
In wit, and sense, and nature's spite : 
Till reading, I forget what day on, 
A chapter out of Took's Pantheon, 
I think I met with something there, 
To suit my purpose to a hair ; 
But let us not proceed too furious, 
First please to turn to god Mercurius ; 
You'll find him pictured at full length 
In book the second, page the tenth : 
The stress of all my proofs on him I lay, 
And now proceed we to our simile. 

Imprimis, pray observe his hat, 
Wings upon either side — mark that. 



90 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Well ! what is it from thence we gather? 

Why these denote a Drain of feather. 

A brain of feather ! very right, 

With wit that's flighty, learning light ; 

Such as to modern hards decreed ; 

A just comparison, — proceed. 

In the next place, his feet perase, 
Wings grow again from "both his shoes ; 
Designed, no doubt, their part to hear, 
And waft his godship through the air : 
And here my simile unites, 
For in the modern poet's flights, 
Fm sure it may he justly said, 
His feet are useful as his head. 



Lastly, youchsafe t' observe his hand, 
Fill'd with a snake-encircled wand ; 
By classic authors termed caduceus, 
And highly famed for several uses. 
To wit — most wondrously endued, 
No poppy water half so good ; 
For let folks only get a touch, 
Its soporific virtue's such, 
Though ne'er so much awake before, 
That quickly they begin to snore. 
Add too, what certain writers tell, 
With this he drives men's souls to hell. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 91 

Now to apply, begin we then ; 
His wand's a modern author's pen ; 
The serpents round about it twined 
Denote him of the reptile kind ; 
Denote the rage with which he writes, 
His frothy slaver, venom' d bites ; 
An equal semblance still to keep, 
Alike too both conduce to sleep. 
This difference only as the God 
Drove souls to Tartarus with his rod, 
With his goosequill the scribbling elf, 
Instead of others, damns himself. 

And here my simile almost tript, 
Yet grant a word by way of postscript. 
Moreover, Mercury had a failing : 
"Well! what of that? out with it — stealing; 
In which all modern bards agree, 
Being each as great a thief as he : 
But e'en this deity's existence 
Shall lend my simile assistance. 
Our modern bards ! why what a pox 
Are they but senseless stones and blocks ? 



92 goldsmith's poetical works. 



AN ELEGY 



DEATH OF A MAD DOG. 



Good people all, of eyery sort, 
Giye ear unto my song ; 

And if you find it wondrous short, 
It cannot hold you long. 

In Islington there was a man, 
Of whom the world might say, 

That still a godly race he ran 
Whene'er he went to pray. 

A kind and gentle heart he had, 
To comfort friends and foes ; 

The naked eyery day he clad, 
When he put on his clothes. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 93 

And in that town a dog was found, 

As many dogs there he, 
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, 

And curs of low degree. 

This dog and man at first were friends ; 

But when a pique "began, 
The dog, to gain his private ends, 

Went mad, and hit the man. 

Around from all the neighhouring streets 

The wondering neighbours ran, 
And swore the dog had lost his wits, 

To hite so good a man. 

The wound it seem'd hoth sore and sad 

To every christian eye ; 
And while they swore the dog was mad. 

They swore the man would die. 

But soon a wonder came to light, 

That show'd the rogues they lied, 
The man recovered of the hite, 

The dog it was that died. 



94 goldsmith's poetical works. 



THE CLOWN'S REPLY. 



John Trott was desired by two witty peers 

To tell them the reason why asses had ears ? 

6 An't please you/ quoth John, c Fm not giyen to letters, 

Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters ; 

Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces, 

As I hope to he sayed ! without thinking on asses. ? 



STANZAS. 



When loyely woman stoops to folly, 
And finds too late that men betray, 

What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
What art can wash her guilt away ? 

The only art her guilt to coyer, 
To hide her shame from eyery eye, 

To giye repentance to her loyer, 
And wring his bosom — is, to die. 



goldsmith's poetical wokks. 95 

DESCRIPTION OF AN 

AUTHOR'S BEDCHAMBER. 



Where the Red Lion staring o'er the way, 

Invites each passing stranger that can pay ; 

Where Calvert's butt, and Parson's "black champagne, 

Regale the drabs and bloods of Drury-lane ; 

There in a lonely room, from bailiffs snng, 

The Muse found Scroggen stretch' d beneath a rug ; 

A window, patch'd with paper, lent a ray, 

That dimly show'd the state in which he lay ; 

The sanded floor that grits beneath the tread ; 

The humid wall with paltry pictures spread : 

The royal game of goose was there in view, 

And the twelve rules the royal martyr drew ; 

The seasons, framed with listing, found a place, 

And brave prince William show'd his lampblack face : 

The morn was cold, he views with keen desire 

The rusty grate unconscious of a nre : 

With beer and milk arrears the frieze was scored, 

And five crack'd teacups dress' d the chimney board ; 

A nightcap deck'd his brows instead of bay, 

A cap by night — a stocking all the day ! 



96 goldsmith's poetical works. 



SONG. 

INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SUNG IN THE COMEDY OF 
"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." 



Ah, me ! when snail I marry me 1 
Loyers are plenty ; "but fail to relieve me. 
He, fond youth, that could carry me, 
Offers to love, but means to deceive me. 

But I will rally and combat the miner : 
]Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover. 
She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, 
Makes but a penitent, and loses a lover. 



EPITAPH ON EDWAED PUKDON * 

Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, 
Who long was a bookseller's hack ; 
He led such a damnable life in this world, — 
I don't think he'll wish to come back. 

* This gentleman was educated at Trinity College, Dublin ; but having 
wasted his patrimony, he enlisted as a foot soldier : growing tired of that 
employment, he obtained his discharge, and became a scribbler in the 
newspapers. He translated Voltaire's Henriade. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 



STANZAS ON 



THE TAKING OF QUEBEC. 



Amidst the clamour of exulting joys, 

WTiich triumph forces from the patriot heart ; 

Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice, 
And quells the raptures which from pleasures start. 

Wolfe, to thee a streaming flood of woe, 

Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear ; 

Quebec in yain shall teach our breast to glow, 
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart- wrung tear. 

Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled, 

And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes : 

Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead ! 
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise, 



98 goldsmith's poetical works. 



AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY OF HER SEX, 
MRS. MARY BLAIZE. 



Good people all, with one accord, 

Lament for Madam Blaize, 
Who never wanted a good word — 

From those who spoke her praise. 

The needy seldom passed her door, 
And always found her kind ; 

She freely lent to all the poor — 
Who left a pledge behind. 

She strove the neighbourhood to please, 
With manners wondrous winning ; 

And never follow'd wicked ways — 
Unless when she was sinning. 

At church, in silks and satins new, 
With hoop of monstrous size ; 

She never slumber'd in her pew — 
But when she shut her eyes. 

Her love was sought, I do aver, 
By twenty beaux and more ; 

The king himself has followed her — 
When she has walk'd before. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 99 

But now her wealth, and finery fled, 
Her hangers-on cut short all ; 
The doctors found, when she was dead- 
lier last disorder mortal. 

Let ns lament, in sorrow sore, 

For Kent-street well may say, 
That had she liy'd a twelvemonth more — 

She had not died to-day. 



EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. 



This tomb inscribed to gentle ParnelPs name, 
May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. 
What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay, 
That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way? 
Celestial themes confessed his tuneful aid ; 
And heayen, that lent him genius, was repaid. 
Needless to him the tribute we bestow, 
The transitory breath of fame below : 
More lasting rapture from his work shall rise, 
While converts thank their poet in the skies. 

h 2 



100 goldsmith's poetical works. 



A PROLOGUE WRITTEN AND SPOKEN BY 
THE POET LABEKIUS, 

A ROMAN KNIGHT, WHOM CiESAR FORCED UPON THE STAGE. 

(Preserved by Macrobius.) 



What ! no way left to slum th ? inglorious stage, 
And save from infamy my sinking age ! 
Scarce half alive, oppressed with many a year, 
What in the name of dotage drives me here 1 
A time there was, when glory was my guide, 
Nor force nor fraud could turn my steps aside ; 
Unaw'd by power, and unappalPd by fear, 
With honest thrift I held my honour dear : 
But this vile hour disperses all my store, 
And all my hoard of honour is no more ; 
For ah ! too partial to my life's decline, 
Caesar persuades, submission must be mine ; 
Him I obey, whom heaven itself obeys, 
Hopeless of pleasing, yet inclined to please. 
Here then at once I welcome every shame, 
And cancel at threescore a life of fame ; 
No more my titles shall my children tell, 
The old buffoon will tit my name as well ; 
This day beyond its term my fate extends, 
For life is ended when our honour ends. 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 101 



PROLOGUE TO ZOBEIDE: 

A TRAGEDY 

WB1TTEN BY JOSEPH CKADDOCK, ESQ. 



In these bold times, when learning's sons explore 

The distant climates, and the sayage shore ; 

When wise astronomers to India steer, 

And quit for Yenns many a brighter here ; 

While botanists, all cold to smiles and dimpling, 

Forsake the fair, and patiently — go simpling, 

Our bard into the general spirit enters, 

And tits his little frigate for adventures. 

With Scythian stores, and trinkets deeply laden, 

He this way steers his course, in hopes of trading — 

Yet ere he lands has ordered me before, 

To make an observation on the shore. 

Where are we driven 1 our reckoning sure is lost ! 

This seems a rocky and dangerous coast. 

Lord, what a sultry climate am I under ! 

Yon ill foreboding cloud seems big with thunder. 

[Upper Gallery. 
There mangroves spread, and larger than Fve seen 'em — 

[Pit. 



102 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Here trees of stately size — and billing turtles in ? em — 

[Balconies. 
Here ill-condition ? d oranges abound — [Stage. 

And apples, bitter apples, strew the ground : 

[Tasting them. 
The inhabitants are cannibals, I fear : 
I heard a hissing — there are serpents here ! 
Oh, there the people are — best keep my distance : 
Our Captain, gentle natives, craves assistance ; 
Our ships well stored — in yonder creek we've laid her, 
His honour is no mercenary trader. 
This is his first adventure : lend him aid, 
And we may chance to drive a thriving trade. 
His goods, he hopes, are prime, and brought from far, 
Equally fit for gallantry and war. 
What ? no reply to promises so ample ! 
I'd best step back — and order up a sample. 



In all my Emma's beauties blest, 
Amidst profusion still I pine ; 

For though she gives me up her breast, 
Its panting tenant is not mine. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 103 



EPILOGUE 

SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWES, 

IN THE CHA&ACTEB OP HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT. 

Hold! prompter, liold ! a word before your nonsense ; 
Fd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. 
My pride forbids it eyer should be said, 
My heels eelips'd the honours of my head; 
That I found humour in a pyeball vest, 
Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. 

[Takes off his mask. 
Whence, and what art thou, visionary birth ! 
Nature disowns, and reason scorns thy mirth, 
In thy black aspect every passion sleeps, 
The joy that dimples, and the woe that weeps. 
How hast thou filled the scene with all thy brood, 
Of fools pursuing, and of fools pursued ! 
Whose ins and outs no ray of sense discloses, 
Whose only plot it is to break our noses ; 
Whilst from below the trapdoor demons rise, 
And from above the dangling deities ; 
And shall I mix in this unhallow'd crew ? 
May rosined lightning blast me, if I do ! 
No — I will act, I'll vindicate the stage : 
Shakespeare himself shall feel my tragic rage. 



104 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Off ! off ! vile trapping a new passion reigns ! 

The maddening monarch reyels in my yeins. 

Oh ! for a Bichard's voice to catch the theme : 

Give me another horse ! hind up my wounds !— soft — 

? twas bnt a dream. 
Ay, 'twas hut a dream, for now there's no retreating : 
If I cease Harlequin, I cease from eating. 
'Twas thus that JEsop's stag, a creature blameless, 
Yet something vain, like one that shall he nameless, 
Once on the margin of a fountain stood, 
And cavill'd at his image in the flood : 
"The deuce confound/' he cries, "these drumstick shanks, 
They never have my gratitude nor thanks ; 
They're perfectly disgraceful ! strike me dead ! 
But for a head, yes, yes, I have a head : 
How piercing is that eye ! how sleek that hrow ! 
My horns ! — I'm told horns are the fashion now," 

Whilst thus he spoke, astonish'd, to his view, 
Near, and more near, the hounds and huntsmen drew ; 
" Hoicks ! hark forward !" came thund'ring from behind : 
He bounds aloft, outstrips the fleeting wind ; 
He quits the woods, and tries the beaten ways ; 
He starts, he pants, he takes the circling maze : 
At length, his silly head, so prized before, 
Is taught his former folly to deplore ; 
Whilst his strong limbs conspire to set him free, 
And at one bound he saves himself — like me. 

[Taking a jump through the stage door. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 105 



EPILOGUE 



COMEDY OF "THE SISTERS." 



What ? five long acts — and all to make us wiser ! 
Our authoress sure has wanted an adyiser. 
Had she consulted me, she should have made 
Her moral play a speaking masquerade ; 
Warned up each hustling scene, and, in her rage, 
Have emptied all the green-room on the stage. 
My life on't, this had kept her play from sinking, 
Have pleased our eyes, and saved the pain of thinking,. 
Well, since she thus has shewn her want of skill, 
What if I give a masquerade 1 — I will. 
But how? ay, there's the rub ! [pausing] I 've got my cue : 
The world's a masquerade! the masquers, you, you, you. 
[To Boxes, Pit, and Gallery 
Lud ! what a group the motley scene discloses ! 
False wits, false wifes, false virgins, and false spouses ! 
Statesmen with bridles on ; and, close beside 'em, 
Patriots in particoloured suits that ride 'em : 
There Hebes, turn'd of fifty, try once more 
To raise a flame in Cupids of threescore ; 



106 goldsmith's poetical works 

These in their turn, with appetites as keen, 

Deserting fifty, fasten on fifteen : 

Miss, not yet full fifteen, with fire uncommon, 

Flings down her sampler, and takes up the woman! 

The little urchin smiles, and spreads her lure, 

And tries to kill, ere she's got power to cure. 

Thus 'tis with all : their chief and constant care 

Is to seem everything — hut what they are. 

Yon broad, hold, angry spark, I Hx my eye on, 

Who seems to have robb'd his yizor from the lion ; 

Who frowns, and talks, and swears, with round parade, 

Looking, as who should say, Damme ! whose afraid ? 

[Mimicking. 
Strip hut this vizor off, and, sure I am, 
You'll find his lionship a very lamb : 
Yon politician, famous in debate, 
Perhaps, to vulgar eyes bestrides the state ; 
Yet, when he deigns his real shape t'assume, 
He turns old woman, and bestrides a broom. 
Yon patriot, too, who presses on your sight, 
And seems, to every gazer, all in white, 
If with a bribe his candour you attack, 
He bows, turns round, and whip — the man's in black ! 
Yon critic, too — but whither do I run ? 
If I proceed, our bard will be undone ! 
Well, then, a truce, since she requests it too : 
Do you spare her, and I'll for once spare you. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 



107 




EPILOGUE, 

SPOKEN BY MRS. BULKLEY AND MISS CATLEY, 

Enter Mrs. BulMey, who curtsies very low as beginning to speak. 
Then enter Miss Cathy, who stands full before her, and curtsies 
to the audience. 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

Hold, Ma'am, your pardon. What's your business here ? 

MISS CATLET. 

The Epilogue. 



108 goldsmith's poetical works, 

mrs. bulkley. 
The Epilogue? 

MISS CATLEY. 

Yes, the Epilogue, my dear. 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

Sure you mistake, Ma'am. The Epilogue / bring it. 

MISS CATLEY. 

Excuse me, Ma'am. The Author bid me sing it. 

Recitative. 
Ye beaux and belles, that form this splendid ring, 
Suspend your conversation while I sing. 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

Why sure the girl's beside herself: an Epilogue of 

singing, 
A hopeful end indeed to such a blest beginning. 
Besides, a singer in a comic set ! 
Excuse me, Ma'am, I know the etiquette. 

MISS CATLEY. 

What if we leave it to the House ? 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

The House ! — Agreed. 

MISS CATLEY. 

Agreed. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 109 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

And she, whose party's largest, shall proceed. 
And first I hope, you'll readily agree 
I've all the critics and the wits for me. 
They, I am sure, will answer my commands, 
Ye candid judging few, hold up your hands ; 
What, no return ? I find too late, I fear, 
That modern judges seldom enter here. 

MISS CATLEY. 

I'm for a different set. — Old men, whose trade is 
Still to gallant and dangle with the ladies. 

Recitative. 
Who mump their passion, and who, grimly smiling, 
Still thus address the fair with yoice beguiling. 

Air — Cotillon. 
Turn, my fairest, turn, if ever 

Strephon caught thy ravished eye ; 
Pity take on your swain so clever, 
Who without your aid must die. 

Yes, I shall die, hu, hu, hu, hu, 
Yes, I must die, ho, ho, ho, ho, 
Da Capo. 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

Let all the old pay homage to your merit : 
Give me the young, the gay, the men of spirit. 
Ye travelled tribe, ye macaroni train 
Of French friseurs, and nosegays, justly vain, 



110 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Who take a trip to Paris once a year 
To dress, and look like awkward Frenchmen here ; 
Lend me your hands. — fatal news to tell, 
Their hands are only lent to the Heinelle. 

MISS CATLEY. 

Ay, take your travellers, travellers indeed ! 
Give me the honny Scot, that travels from the Tweed. 
Where are the cheils 1 Ah ! Ah, I well discern 
The smiling looks of each bewitching bairn. 

Tuwe — A "bonny young lad is my jockey. 
Air. 
Fll sing to amuse you by night and by day, 
And be unco merry when you are but gay ; 
When you with your bagpipes are ready to play, 
My voice shall be ready to carol away 

With Sandy, and Sawney, and Jockey, 
With Sawney, and Jarvie, and Jockey. 

MRS. BULKLEY. 

Ye gamesters, who, so eager in pursuit, 

Make but of all your fortune one va tonte : 

Ye jockey tribe, whose stock of words are few, 

" I hold the odds. — Done, done, with you, with you." 

Ye barristers so fluent with grimace, 

" My Lord, — your Lordship misconceives the case. 77 

Doctors, who cough and answer every misfortuner, 

" I wish Fd been called in a little sooner, 77 

Assist my cause with hands and voices hearty, 

Come end the contest here, and aid my party. 



goldsmith's poetical works. Ill 



MISS CATLET. 



Air — Balleinamony. 

Ye braye Irish lads, hark away to the crack, 

Assist, me I pray, in this woful attack ; 

For sure I don't wrong yon, yon seldom are slack, 

When the ladies are calling, to hlnsh and hang hack. 
For you're always polite and attentive, 
Still to amnse ns inyentiye, 
And death is yonr only preyentiye : 
Your hands and yonr yoices for me. 



MRS. BULKLET. 



Well, Madam, what if, after all this sparring, 
We both agree, like friends, to end our jarring ? 

MISS CATLET. 

And that our friendship may remain unbroken, 
What if we leaye the Epilogue unspoken ? 

MRS. BULEXEY. 

Agreed. 

MISS CATLET. 

Agreed. 

MRS. BULEXEY. 

And now with late repentance, 
Unepilogued the poet waits his sentence. 
Condemn the stubborn fool who can't submit 
To thriye by flattery, though he starves by wit. 

[Exeunt. 



112 goldsmith's poetical works. 



AN EPILOGUE, 



INTENDED FOR MRS. BULKLEY. 



There is a place — so Ariosto sings — 

A treasury for lost and missing things ; 

Lost human wits haye places there assigned them, 

And they who lose their senses, there may find them. 

But where's this place, this storehouse of the age ? 

The moon, says he ; hut I afrirm, the stage — 

At least, in many things I think I see 

His lunar and our mimic world agree : 

Both shine at night, for, hut at Foote's alone, 

We scarce exhibit till the sun goes down : 

Both prone to change, no settled limits fix, 

And sure the folks of both are lunatics. 

But in this parallel my best pretence is, 

That mortals visit both to find their senses : 

To this strange spot, rakes, macaronies, cits, 

Come thronging to collect their scattered wits. 

The gay coquette, who ogles all the day, 

Comes here at night, and goes a prude away. 

Hither the affected city dame advancing, 

Who sighs for operas and doats on dancing, 



GOLDSMITHS POETICAL WORKS. 113 

Taught by our art, her ridicule to pause on, 
Quits the Ballet, and calls for Nancy Dawson. 
The gamester, too, whose wit's all high or low, 
Oft risks his fortune on one desperate throw, 
Conies here to saunter, haying made his "bets, 
Finds his lost senses out and pays his debts. 
The Mohawk, too, with angry phrases stored— 
As " Damme Sir !" and " Sir, I wear a sword !" — 
Here lessoned for a while, and hence retreating, 
Goes out, affronts his man, and takes a beating. 
Here come the sons of scandal and of news, 
But find no sense — for they had none to lose. 
Of all tribe here wanting an adviser, 
Our Author's the least likely to grow wiser ; 
Has he not seen how you your favour place 
On sentimental queens and lords in lace ? 
Without a star, a coronet, or garter, 
How can the piece expect or hope for quarter 1 
No high-life scenes, no sentiment : the creature 
Still stoops among the low to copy nature. 
Yes, he's far gone : and yet some pity fix, 
The English laws forbid to punish lunatics.* 

* This Epilogue was given in MS. by Dr. Goldsmith to Dr. Percy (now 
Bishop of Dromore); hut for what comedy it was intended is not 
remembered. 



114 goldsmith's poetical works. 



EPILOGUE 

TO THE COMEDY OF 

"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER." 

Well, having Stooped to Conquer with success. 

And gained a husband without aid from dress, 

Still as a "barmaid, I could wish it too, 

As I haye conquered him, to conquer you : 

And let me say, for all your resolution, 

That pretty barmaids haye done execution. 

Our life is all a play, composed to please, 

1 We haye our exits and our entrances.' 

The First Act shows the simple country maid, 

Harmless and young, of every thing afraid ; 

Blushes when hired, and with unmeaning action, 

' I hope as how to give you satisfaction. ' 

Her Second Act displays a livelier scene — ■ 

Th ; unblushing barmaid of a country inn, 

Who whisks about the house, at market caters, 

Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters. 

Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars. 

The chophouse toasts of ogling connoisseurs. 

On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts, 

And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts : 



goldsmith's poetical works, 115 

And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete, 

Even comnion-councilmen forget to eat. 

The Fourth Act shows her wedded to the 'squire, 

And madam now begins to hold it higher ; 

Dotes upon dancing, and in all her pride, 

Swims round the room the Heinelle of Cheapside ; 

Ogles and leers with artificial skill, 

'Till having lost in age the power to kill, 

She sits all night at cards, and ogles at Spadille. 

Such, through our lives, the eventful history — 

The Fifth and Last Act still remains for me. 

The barmaid now for your protection prays, 

Turns female barrister, and pleads for bays. 



LINES ATTBIBUTED TO DE. GOLDSMITH, 

INSERTED IN THE MORNING CHRONICLE OP APRIL 3, 1800. 



E'en have you seen, bathed in the morning dew ; 

The budding rose its infant bloom display ; 
When first its virgin tints unfold to view, 

It shrinks, and scarcely trusts the blaze of day : 

So soft, so delicate, so sweet she came, 

Youth's damask glow just dawning on her cheek ; 
I gazed, I sighed, I caught the tender flame, 

Felt the fond pang, and drooped with passion weak. 

i 2 



116 goldsmith's poetical works, 



ON SEEING MES. * * PEBFOBM IN THE 
CHARACTER OF * * * * 

Foe you, bright fair, the Nine address their lays, 

And tune my feeble yoice to sing thy praise. 

The heartfelt power of every charm divine, 

Who can withstand their all commanding shine ; 

See how she inoves along with every grace, 

While soul-brought tears steal down each shining face. 

She speaks ! 'tis rapture all, and nameless bliss, 

Ye gods ! what transport e'er compared to this, 

As when in Paphian groves the Queen of Love 

With fond complaint addressed the listening Jove. 

'Twas joy and endless blisses all around, 

And rocks forgot their hardness at the sound. 

Then first, at last even Jove was taken in, 

And felt her charms, without disguise, within. 



TO G. C. AND R. L. 



'Twas you, or I, or he, or all together, 

'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether; 

This, I believe, between us great and small, 

You, I, he, wrote it not — 'twas Churchill's all. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 117 



DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. * * * 



Ye muses, pour the pitying tear 
For Pollio snatched away ; 

Oh ! had he lived another year ! 
He had not died to-day. 

Oh ! were he horn to hless mankind 

In yirtuous times of yore, 
Heroes themselyes had fallen behind 

Whene'er he went before. 

How sad the groves and plains appear, 

And sympathetic sheep ; 
Even pitying hills would drop a tear 

If hills could learn to weep. 

His bounty in exalted strain 
Each bard might well display ; 

Since none implored relief in vain 
That went relieved away. 

And hark ! I hear the tuneful throng 

His obsequies forbid, 
He still shall live, shall live as long 

As ever dead man did. 



118 goldsmith's poetical wokks. 



AN EPIGRAM 

ADDRESSED TO THE GENTLEMEN REFLECTED ON IN THE ROSCIAD, 
A POEM, BY THE AUTHOR. 

Worried with debts, and past all hopes of hail, 
His pen he prostitutes t'avoid a gaol. 

ROSCOM. 



Let not the hungry BaYrus' angry stroke 
Awake resentment, or your rage proyoke — 
Bnt pitying his distress, let virtue * shine, 
And giving each your bounty, f let him dine. 
For thus retained, as learned council can, 
Each case, however bad, he'll new japan ; 
And by a quick transition, plainly show 
7 Twas no defeat of yours, hut pocket low, 
That caused his putrid kennnel to overflow. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 119 



THE CAPTIVITY. 



AN ORATORIO. 



THE PERSONS. 

First Jewish Prophet. First Chaldean Priest. 

Second Jewish Prophet. Second Chaldean Priest. 

Israelitish Woman. Chaldean Woman. 

Chorus of Youths and Virgins. 

Scene — The Banks of the River Euphrates near Babylon. 



ACT THE FIKST. 

FIRST PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Ye captiye tribes, that hourly work and weep 
Where flows Euphrates murmuring to the deep- 
Suspend your woes awhile, the task suspend, 
And turn to God, your father and your friend : 
Insulted, chained, and all the world our foe, 
Our God alone is all we boast below. 



120 goldsmith's poetical works. 

CHORUS OF PROPHETS. 

Our God is all we boast "below, 

To him we turn our eyes ; 
And eyery added weight of woe 

Shall make our homage rise : 

And though no temple richly dress'd, 

Nor sacrifice is here — 
We'll make his temple in our breast, 

And offer up a tear. 

ISRAELITISH WOMAN. 

That strain once more ! it bids remembrance rise, 

And brings my long lost country to mine eyes : 

Ye fields of Sharon, dress'd in flowery pride ; 

Ye plains where Kedron rolls its glassy tide ; 

Ye hills of Lebanon, with cedars crown' d ; 

Ye Gilead groyes, that fling perfumes around : 

How sweet those groyes ! that plain how wond'rous fair ! 

How sweeter still when Heayen was with us there ! 

Air. 
Memory ! thou fond deceiyer, 

Still importunate and yain, 
To former joys recurring eyer, 

And turning all the past to pain ; 

Thou, like the world, the opprest oppressing, 
Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe ! 

And he who wants each other blessing, 
In thee must eyer find a foe. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 121 

FIRST PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Yet why repine 1 What though by bonds confined, 
Should bonds repress the yigour of the mind ? 
Have we not cause for triumph, when we see 
Ourselves alone from idol worship free 1 
/ire not, this very morn, those feasts begun 
Where prostrate error hails the rising sun 1 
Do not our tyrant lords this day ordain 
For superstitious rights and mirth profane ? 
And should we mourn ? Should coward virtue fly, 
When vaunting folly lifts her head on high 1 
No ? rather let us triumph still the more- — 
And as our fortune sinks, our spirits soar. 
Air. 
The triumphs that on vice attend 
Shall ever in confusion end ; 
The good man suffers but to gain, 
And every virtue springs from pain : 
As aromatic plants bestow 
No spicy fragrance while they grow ; 
But crush 7 d, or trodden to the ground, 
Diffuse their balmy sweets around. 

SECOND PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

But hush, my sons, our tyrant lords are near, 

The sounds of barbarous pleasure strike mine ear ; 

Triumphant music floats along the vale, 

Near, nearer still, it gathers on the gale : 

The growing sound their swift approach declares — 

Desist, my sons, nor mix the strain with theirs. 



122 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Enter chaldean priests attended. 
Air. 

FIRST PRIEST. 

Come on, my companions; the triumph display. 

Let rapture the minutes employ ; 
The sun calls us out on this festival day, 

And our monarch partakes in the joy. 

Like the sun, our great monarch all rapture supplies ; 

Both similar hlessings bestow : 
The sun with his splendour illumines the skies ; 

And our monarch enlivens below. 

Air. 

CHALDEAN WOMAN. 

Haste, ye sprightly sons of pleasure, 
Love presents the fairest treasure, 
Leave all other joys for me. 

A CHALDEAN ATTENDANT. 

Or rather, love's delights despising, 
Haste to raptures ever rising, 
Wine shall Mess the brave and free. 

FIRST PRIEST. 

Wine and beauty thus inviting, 
Each to different joys exciting, 
Whither shall my choice incline ? 



goldsmith's poetical works, 123 



SECOND PRIEST. 



Fll waste no longer thought in choosing. 
But, neither this nor that refusing, 
Fll make them both together mine. 

RECITATIVE. 

But whence, when joy should "brighten o ? er the land, 
This sullen gloom in Judak's eaptiye band? 
Ye sons of Judah, why the lute unstrung ? 
Or why those harps on yonder willows hung ? 
Come, take the lyre, and pour the strain along, 
The day demands it : sing us Sion's song, 
Dismiss your griefs, and join our tuneful choir — 
For who like you can wake the sleeping lyre i 

Air. 

Eyery moment as it flows 
Some peculiar pleasure owes : 
Come, then, providently wise, 
Seize the debtor ere it flies. 

SECOND PRIEST. 

Think not to-morrow can repay 
The debt of pleasure lost to-day ; 
Alas ! to-morrow ? s richest store 
Can but pay its proper score. 

SECOND PROPHET. 

Chained as we are, the scorn of all mankind, 
To want, to toil, and eyery ill consigned — 



124 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Is this a time to bid us raise the strain, 
Or mix in rites that Heaven regards with pain ? 
No, never ! May this hand forget each art 
That wakes to finest joys the hnman heart, 
Ere I forget the land that gave me "birth, 
Or join to sounds profane its sacred mirth ! 

FIRST FRIEST. 

Hebellious slaves ! if soft persuasion fail, 
More formidable terrors shall prevail. 

FIRST FROPHET. 

Why, let them come, one good remains to cheer, — 
We fear the Lord, and scorn all other fear. 

[Exeunt Chaldeans. 

CHORDS OF CHALDEANS. 

Can chains or tortures bend the mind 
On God's supporting breast reclined ? 
Stand fast, and let our tyrants see 
That fortitude is victory. 

f Exeunt. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 125 



ACT THE SECOND. 



Air. 

CHORUS OF PRIESTS. 

peace of mind, angelic guest, 
Thou soft companion of the breast, 

Dispense thy balmy store ; 
Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies, 
Till earth, receding from our eyes, 

Shall vanish as we soar. 

FIRST PRIEST. — RECITATIVE. 

No more. Too long has justice been delay ; d — 
The king's commands must fully be obeyed ; 
Compliance with his will your peace secures, 
Praise but our gods, and eyery good is yours : 
But if, rebellious to his high command, 
You spurn the favours offered at his hand — 
Think, timely think, what terrors are behind, 
Eeflect, nor tempt to rage the royal mind. 



126 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Fierce is the tempest howling 
Along the furrowed main. 

And fierce the whirlwind rolling. 
G'er Afric's sandy plain : 

But storms that fly 
To rend the sky, 

Eyery ill presaging — 
Less dreadful show 
To worlds "below 

Than angry monarch's raging. 



ISRAEL1TISH WOMAN. 

Ah me ! what angry terrors round us grow ! 
How shrinks my soul to meet the threatened Wow ! 
Ye prophets, skilPd in Heayen's eternal truth, 
Forgiye my sex's fears, forgiye my youth, 
If, shrinking thus when frowning power appears, 
I wish for life, and yield me to my fears, 
Ah ! let us one, one little hour ohey ; 
To-morrow's tears may wash the stain away. 



Air, 

The wretch, condemned with life to part, 

Still, still on hope relies ; 
And eyery pang that rends the heart, 

Bids expectation rise. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 127 

Hope, like the glimmering taper's light. 

Adorns and cheers the way ; 
And still, as darker grows the night. 

Emits a brighter ray. 

SECOND PRIEST. 

Why this delay 1 At length for joy prepare : 
I read your looks, and see compliance there. 
Gome on, and hid the warbling raptnre rise, 
Our monarches name the noblest theme supplies. 
Begin, ye captive bands, and strike the lyre, — 
The time, the theme, the place, and all conspire. 

Air, 

CHALDEAN WOMAN. 

See the ruddy morning smiling, 
Hear the groye to bliss beguiling ; 
Zephyrs through the woodland playing, 
Streams along the y alley straying. 

FIRST PRIEST. 

While these a constant revel keep, 
Shall reason only teach to weep ? 
Hence, intruder ! we'll pursue 
Nature— a better guide than you, 

SECOND PRIEST, 

But hold ! see, foremost of the captive choir, 
The master prophet grasps his full-toned lyre. 



128 



goldsmith's poetical wokks. 



Mark where lie sits, with executing art, 
Feels for eacli tone, and speeds it to the heart ; 




See, how prophetic rapture tills his form, 
Awful as clouds that nurse the growing storm ! 
And now his yoice, accordant to the string, 
Prepares our monarch's victories to sing. 

Air. 

FIRST PROPHET. 

From north, from south, from east, from west, 

Conspiring nations come : 
Tremhle, thou vice-polluted hreast 

Blasphemers, all be dumb. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 129 

The tempest gathers all around, 

On Babylon it lies , 
Down with her ! down ; down to the ground 

She sinks, she groans, she dies. 

SECOND PROPHET. 

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust, 

Before yon setting sun ; 
Serve her as she has served the just ! 

? Tis fix'd — it shall he done. 

FIRST PRIEST. — RECITATIVE. 

No more ! when slaves thus insolent presume, 

The king himself shall judge, and fix their doom. 

Unthinking wretches ! have not you and all 

Beheld our power in Zedekiah's fall ? 

To yonder gloomy dungeon turn your eyes : 

See where dethroned your captive monarch lies, 

Deprived of sight, and rankling in his chain ; 

See where he mourns his friends and children slain. 

Yet know, ye slaves, that still remain behind 

More ponderous chains, and dungeons more confined. 



Arise, all potent ruler, rise, 

And vindicate thy people's cause, 
Till every tongue in every land 
Shall offer up unfeigned applause. 

[Exeunt, 
K 



130 goldsmith's poetical works. 



ACT THE THIRD. 

FIRST PRIEST. 

Yes, my companions. Heaven's decrees are pass'd, 

And onr fix'd empire shall for ever last : 

In vain the maddening prophet threatens woe — 

In vain rebellion aims her secret Mow ; 

Still shall our name and growing power he spread, 

And still our justice crush the traitor's head. 

Air, 

Coeval with man 
Our empire "began, 
And never shall fall 
Till ruin shakes all. 
When ruin shakes all, 
Then shall Babylon fall, 

SECOND PROPHET. 

'Tis thus the proud triumphant rear the head — 
A little while, and all their power is fled. 
But, ha ! what means yon sadly plaintive train, 
That onward slowly bends along the plain 1 
And now, behold, to yonder bank they bear 
A pallid corse, and rest the body there. 
Alas ! too well mine eyes indignant trace 
The last remains of Judah's royal race : 
FalPn is our king, and all our fears are o'er, 
Unhappy Zedekiah is no more. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 131 

Air. 

Ye wretches who by fortune's hate 

In want and sorrow groan — 
Conie, ponder his severer fate, 

And learn to Mess your own. 

FIEST PROPHET. 

Ye vain, whom youth and pleasure guide, 

Awhile the bliss suspend ; 
Like yours, his life began in pride — 

Like his, your lives shall end. 

SECOND PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Behold his wretched corse with sorrow worn, 
His squalid limbs by ponderous fetters torn 5 * 
Those eyeless orbs that shook with ghastly glare, 
Those unbecoming rags, that matted hair ! 
And shall not Heaven for this avenge the foe, 
Grasp the red bolt, and lay the guilty low ? 
How long, how long, Almighty God of all, 
Shall wrath vindictive threaten ere it fall ! 

ISRAELITISH WOMAN. 

Air. 

As panting flies the hunted hind, 

Where brooks refreshing stray ; 

And rivers through the valley wind, 

That stop the hunter's way : 

k 2 



132 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Thus we, Lord, alike distressed, 

For streams of mercy long ; 
Streams winch can cheer the sore oppressed, 

And overwhelm the strong. 



FIRST PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

But whence that shout? Good heavens ! Amazement all ! 

See yonder tower just nodding to the fall : 

Behold, an army covers all the ground, 

? Tis Cyrus here that pours destruction round : 

The ruin smokes, the torrent pours along — 

How low the proud, how feehle are the strong I 

And now, behold, the battlements recline — 

God of hosts, the victory is thine ! 



CHORUS OF ISRAELITES. 

Down with her, Lord, to lick the dust— 

Thy vengeance be begun ; 
Serve her as she has served the just, 

And let thy will be done. 



FIRST PRIEST. — RECITATIVE, 

All, all is lost ! The Syrian army fails, 
Cyrus, the conqueror of the world, prevails. 
Save us, Lord ! to Thee, though late, we pray \ 
And give repentance but an hour's delay. 



goldsmith's poetical works. 133 

SECOND PRIEST. 

Air. 
Thrice happy, who in happy hour 

To Heaven their praise bestow, 
And own his all-consuming power 

Before they feel the blow ! 

FIRST PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Now, now's our time ! ye wretches hold and blind, 
Braye but to God, and cowards to mankind, 
Ye seek in yain the Lord unsought before — 
Your wealth, your liyes, your kingdom, are no more ! 

Air. 
Lucifer, thou son of morn, 
Of Heaven alike and man the foe, — 

Heaven, men, and all, 

Now press thy fall, 
And sink thee lowest of the low. 

SECOND PROPHET. 

Babylon, how art thou fallen— 
Thy fall more dreadful from delay ! 

Thy streets forlorn, 

To wilds shall turn, 
Where toads shall pant, and vultures prey ! 

FIRST PROPHET. — RECITATIVE. 

Such be her fate. But hark ! how from afar 
The clarion's note proclaims the finished war f 
Cyrus, our great restorer, is at hand, 
And this way leads his formidable band. 



134 goldsmith's poetical works. 

Now give your songs of Zion to tlie wind, 

And hail the benefactor of mankind : 

He comes, pursuant to divine decree, 

To chain the strong, and set the captive free, 

CHORUS OF YOUTHS. 

Eise to raptures past expressing, 
Sweeter from remembered woes ; 

Cyrus comes, our wrongs redressing, 
Comes to give the world repose. 

CHORUS OF VIRGINS. 

Cyrus comes, the world redressing, 
Love and pleasure in his train ; 

Comes to heighten every blessing, 
Comes to soften every pain. 

SEMI-CHORUS. 

Hail to him with mercy reigning, 
Skill' d in every peaceful art ; 

Who, from bonds our limbs unchaining, 
Only binds the willing heart. 

THE LAST CHORUS. 

But chief to thee, our God, our father, friend, 
Let praise be given to all eternity ; 

Thou, without beginning, without end — 
Let us and all, begin and end in Thee ! 



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